


Mr and Mrs Smith

by Lady_Cleo



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who RPF, Mr. and Mrs. Smith (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, F/M, Mattex, Tumblr Prompt, fandoms colliding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 26,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1483348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/Lady_Cleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>all married couples have a few secrets. Mr and Mrs Smith have a few that are downright deadly.<br/>'til death do us part' has never been more of a challenge. a Mattex redo of Mr and Mrs Smith</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Just Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> even with the source material, I'm starting this off as a T rating with no graphic sex or violence. this might change. I'll let you know.  
> for the opener, listen to Another Day by Paul McCartney. the upbeat monotony seems to fit.

On an ordinary street in Surrey, there stands an ordinary house. Two story, brick, detached garage, two modest cars in the driveway. No ivy creepers scaling the walls but they're working on it. Football nets in the side yard, lush gardens in the back.

And in the house, an ordinary couple. Smiling over their teacups. They love one another, they each have work that they enjoy. Sex is good, when it happens. Communication dwindling, but they make small talk. In fact, they hardly say anything anymore that isn’t small. It's not that they don't have other things to say; they just... don't. And the distance between them grows, the space that yawns a little wider by the day constantly being filled in with all the things they don't say to each other. But that's marriage, or so they've heard it said.

The wife, resplendent and casual in silk pajamas, makes breakfast. Her husband eats, thanks her, has to be at the office an hour ahead of her and is already perfectly attired. He grabs his flight case and bag, presses a kiss to his wife’s cheek - she halts him long enough to straighten his tie- and drives away.

She doesn’t know about the twin Glocks he has under his floorplans for a new shopping center. He doesn’t know about the array of throwing knives, stars and punch daggers that reside in a special compartment behind the trash compactor. It's bigger on the inside than it has a right to be- the discrepancy only noticeable if you're looking for it.

Pressing a seemingly random sequence of buttons (thus securing the access code), she waits for the click and slides it open. She sees the crumpled container sitting on top; he drank the last of the milk and didn’t tell her. Again. She rolls her eyes, accesses the top shelves, and resets the compartment.

Green eyes focus on empty air for a moment before she whirls and lets a single stiletto pin fly. It thuds into the chair rail, pinning a moth that was threatening her tea.

Oh yes. Just another ordinary day in the lives of a married couple… running out of things to say. Trying desperately not to live up to "til death do us part."


	2. And You May Ask Yourself "well how did I get here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "Once In a Lifetime" by the Talking Heads. chosen for appropriateness of the lyrics, and the fact that the guy singing in the video looks like a Raggedy Doctor...

Dressed for her day in a sleek black pencil skirt, blazer and stilettos, ringlets artfully arranged, Alex steps into the black towncar waiting at the curb and rides to work in lush leather comfort. Her Blueberry is in her palm as she checks emails, scouts her schedule and looks up a new recipe to try that night. She's just logging a local grocery for the ingredients when a cam call icon pops up.

"Are you nearly here yet?" The question, delivered in what Alex affectionately calls a 'Scottish whisper', echoes in the car- and on the celestial face of the woman asking it.

"I'm pulling up now. I'll be in the lift in 45," Alex reassures her.

"Your punctuality is... astounding, Kingston."

Alex grins. "And yet you check up on me every day anyway, G." With a quick blown kiss, she disconnects and pockets the phone. Her driver opens her door, and armed with her case and a trench over one arm, Alex strides confidently into the marble-floored lobby of the Archer Building.

She works for Kovarian Enterprises- listed on the directory as a consulting company, but really a black cover assassination firm. Nearly everyone there is a woman, but all brilliant and chosen expressly **because** of the brains concealed by their pretty faces. Jenna is a short, sweet tempered, sweet-faced angel- who happens to be a surgeon with a shotgun and can hack any computer on the planet. Kaz G is their own personal Q, endlessly creating amazing weapons and gadgets to aid in their assignments- with a temper and IQ that rival her hair. They have fencing mistresses, weapons’ masters, several degrees in social, behavioral and physical sciences, and former theatre girls who can transform faces, hair and costume like lethal fairy godmothers.

Their boss is a mystery. Only three things are concretely known. 1- she wears an eyepatch- though no one knows exactly why. 2- her name in certain circles is either a free pass or a death warrant- though usually one doesn't know which until they speak it. 3- she's credited with taking down a member of the French royal family at a State Dinner, and receiving a commendation for the service from le President himself.

As she heads up in the empty lift, Alex allows herself her morning dose of reflection on her current occupation.

She had studied dramatic arts in school, figuring a career on the stage made more sense than painting. She spoke 3 languages in a variety of accents, and her A-levels were impressive. But she'd abandoned bit parts to fall in love. And her current profession had chosen her after a disastrous marriage to a German media mogul found her taking down a pushy man in a bar with a shrimp fork. A woman had approached her before the police arrived, squiring her away on a car ride to her flat, and outlining a proposal. She'd come in for an interview and the rest was history.

Rigorous psych evals were presented and passed. Random skills acquired at various points were honed to lethal sharpness. She was furnished with an appropriate wardrobe and a dossier and sent out; she returned three days later to a standing ovation.

She was good at her job. She could cook a roast and filet a mercenary when duty called. She could get anything out of anyone. She flirted and seduced with ease but never carried through, preferring to come home to her husband.

Oh there had been some concern, some speculation, even some vicious rumors when she’d wed a man 15 years her junior after only a month. But she’d fallen and fallen hard for the lanky designer. He’d built her a dream home, and promised to love her forever.

Anthony Kingston had been hired to be her dad. He’d given her away at the wedding with a great deal of credibility; even she had cried. Still, she’d been more than a little surprised that when she’d said “I do” she’d really meant it.

The ding of the floor indicator brings her back to the present with a sigh.

She's good at her job, and knows it. But every morning, in the time between the doors sliding closed and opening again at her floor, Alex lets herself imagine a simple honest life with Matt- no lies, no bloodshed, no blister-causing heels... unless he asks really nicely.

* * *

Matt pulls in to the carpark that morning, eyeing his assigned slot with amusement. The alarm on the SUV gives a double chirp as he slings his bags on to his shoulders and heads inside. He works for TARDIS, The Architecture Research Design and Ideas Group- outwardly an award-winning urban design firm, actually guns for hire. They're not mercenaries though. He'd heard it said once that good men didn't need rules; he wonders sometimes what it says that each hire here lives by a strictly enforced code of so many- first and foremost, no kids. EVER.

He doesn't register the sound of his feet on the pavement as he reflects on how he arrived here, a million miles from where he'd thought he would end up. It had been the most random series of events. He’d wanted to be a footballer, until an injury cut that dream short. Washed up at the age of 19, he'd been miserable, and borderline suicidal. Part of his therapy had involved a shooting range, and a recruiter for a newly formed team saw his natural (and previously unknown) talent with every firearm he used that day. Knives were added into his repertoire, although he couldn’t handle them with the flair Alex did in the kitchen.

His long lanky limbs worked smoothly, a strange animal grace he used with brutal efficiency. But he kept it well hidden with a veneer of clumsiness. He could draw and draft with the best- it was his cover, but he was legitimately good at coaxing a dream to paper, or breathing life into a dead sketch- but many the inanimate object had been sacrificed to maintain his cover.

He had never expected to fall in love- then 18 months in, Alex had sauntered into his life. They met on holiday- Cardiff of all places. She’d been scoping a target named Moffat, he’d been asked to scout the directors of the Cymru Corp, under cover of presenting plans for a prospective expansion in London. They’d each gotten their man, and then some.

24 hours of blistering blissful lovemaking later, he’d asked her on a proper date when they got back to London. The lily he’d brought up with breakfast and tea that she’d placed in her hair quivered as she says yes.

The courtship was a whirlwind- concerts, gallery shows, a carnival (where without meaning to, they’d shown off trying to win prizes for the other)- and after 29 days, he popped the question at Galvin at Windows. The city had lain beneath them like a carpet of starlight, and the world faded away when she murmured a "yes" against his lips.

One of these days, he'd quit. Move them to the country, or take her around the world, and just live out his days with the woman he loved- and no one trying to kill them. _Wouldn't that be nice?_ He muses, as he swipes his entry card and heads to his office.

He's barely laid his things down when a voice heralds from the hallway. "Oi, Smith!" Arthur Darvill, a closet musician and Matt's closest friend, strolls in with a bundle of folders under one arm and his phone held out before him. "Tell me you caught the Radiohead special performance on Wednesday." The video playing on the screen shows a dim stage, Jonny Greenwood rocking a solo. "I didn't see you, but I thought maybe you were hiding by the bar."

"Nah, mate," Matt groans. "Missed it. I had Delvechio to tap in Madrid, and those plans to finish for Jones Tower." He pulls out a blueprints tube and a dossier with CONFIRMED stamped across the side, sliding them across the desk to Arthur, who pockets his phone and hands over his stack of assignments.

"New prospectives- there's a nice one in Holland Park. And hey, better luck next time. Maybe Alex'll surprise you with tickets. Your anniversary's coming up in a few, right?"

Matt stops flicking through the folders to flash him a tight grin. "Don't remind me. I think I've got something she'll really like, but... I don't know. Something's been off lately."

Darvill absorbs this with a nod. When he speaks, he's directing the words to the blueprints in his hands. "You don't think... maybe... I mean I know you're happy, mate, but... is it possible that spontaneous rush is wearing off a bit? Maybe that chemistry is balancing again in the face of... marriage."

Pushing his perpetually floppy fringe out of his eyes, Matt sighs. "I hope not. I mean, I love her- I really do. And she's everything I never realized I wanted," he continues, missing the way Arthur mouths the words along with him- the litany he's been reciting for the last 3 months anytime Arthur brings it up. "We're just... not talking, you know? Not the way we used to. When we first met in Cardiff-" he breaks off, noticing Arthur's mimicry and tosses a plush Man U football at his head. "Prat."

Arthur catches it with ease, and pins Matt with a look. "So. Why don't you try talking to her, then? She must love you- even with that face, she said 'I do'." Ignoring Matt's look of mock wounded outrage, he carries on. "Maybe you're the one that stopped talking. You won't know til you try." He heads out the door, flinging the toy back at Matt over his shoulder. It would've bopped him in the temple if Matt hadn't caught it; he really is too good.

Tossing the ball with skillful ease, Matt allows himself a minute to consider. They have that party at the Greens tomorrow night, and he has an assignment to complete before then. But maybe tonight over dinner, he can try.

His intercom buzzes, startling him into dropping the ball, which rolls under his cabinet. "Bugger," he mutters, before engaging the button. "Yeah?"

"Mr. Smith? Your wife called. Dinner's at 7 and she wants to know if you can remember butter on your way home." He disengages the line with a distracted thanks, wondering why Alex didn't wait to talk to him. But she's busy, he knows, and that reminder turns him back to the stack of work on his own desk.

 _But tonight_ , he resolves, heading for the drafting table in the corner. _Tonight, we'll talk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: Assignment time!


	3. I Always Get My Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's Assignment time- wherein Matt and Alex both get their man...  
> chapter inspiration song: Corrupt by Karissa Noel.

Matt pulls in to Club Firefly, a day to night club and restaurant that's a cover for money laundering- and a frequent hangout for his latest target. Drawing a deep breath, he takes a moment to mentally review his notes on the mark.

Luke Riordan. Aka "Lucky"  
35, 175cm, 190lb.  
Irish-American émigré  
Drug dealer, card sharp.  
Former ties to Irish Mob; Current employer: the Stark Crime Syndicate  
Tattoos: 4 leaf clover on R shoulder, Dead Man's poker hand on L wrist.

And there's something else he knows he needs to remember, but Matt suddenly finds himself thinking about last night.

_"Hi honey, I'm home."_

_She's at the butcher-block with a knife in her hand, radiant in bare feet and a green dress, surrounded by fragrant clouds of steam and spice._ _She halts in her chopping to flick her eyes to the clock on the far wall. 6:56. "And what sort of time do you call this?"_

_"Sorry. Traffic was murder." He presses a kiss to her cheek as he drops the butter on the counter._

_"This is salted."_

_He turns from setting his bags on the side table. "What?"_

_She slides the packet forward with a knifetip. "The butter. It's salted."_

_"Oh." He goes back to digging out a folder. "Is there any other kind?" He's not trying to be flip, merely curious. It feels like when he was in school, and his teachers called him up for answer he clearly didn't know._

_"Unsalted." Her voice is low, but he still hears the muttered comment. "LIke I asked for."  _ _He's already swallowing to make room for the apology when her voice brightens, loud enough to be heard clearly. "I'll make it work."_

_Beyond a bit of chit-chat over dinner, they don't talk. Then he has to take a call about last minute changes to the assignment for today, and she disappears into her office while he loads the dishwasher. It runs for three minutes before she stops it, reloads it properly, and starts it again._

_Then they'd gone to bed... and they don't really talk there._

Matt shakes himself out of his reverie with a sigh. He can fix it later. Right now, he's got a job to do.

He slips into the club, confident in his disguise: boots, jeans, tailored blazer and buttondown over a vintage rock tee, appropriately expensive watch visible under the turned back sleeve- and a pair of very special glasses. He looks like the hipster club crowd, blending right in- even though he doesn't have to.

Scanning the crowd, he spots his target at the bar, arms around a tall pretty brunette in a tight daisy-print dress. He starts skirting the crowd, careful to keep the bar in his sights. A man approaches- one of the club owners- and Lucky turns his attention away. The brunette pouts, tugs on his wrist to get it back. Lucky pulls free, turning back just long enough to rotate her by the shoulders and send her towards the dance floor with a smack to the ass.

Matt starts pressing through, keeping the girl in his sights and Lucky in his periphery. He charms her into dancing with him, spinning her smoothly and rocking her close as he waits for Lucky to notice. Once she starts trying to snuggle under his jacket, it doesn't take long.

When Lucky grabs his shoulder and shoves him out of the girl's arms, Matt recovers smoothly and eases her off to one side. When Lucky insults Daisy Girl, Matt defends her. When Lucky threatens to kick his ass, Matt suggests they take it outside. "Man-to-man, if you don't mind. Let's leave the back-up out of this," he asks, when two of Lucky's bouncers try to follow. Lucky swallows, then nods, sending the guys off with a wave of his hand.

The alley is empty- it's still a little early for vomiting drunks- and Lucky slides out of his suit jacket, never taking his eyes off Matt as he similarly prepares. He's just laid the jacket on a cleanish looking section of cinderblock when a grunt gives away Lucky's ambush.

He steps back and neatly dodges the blow, sending Lucky flying into the bricks. Lucky straightens, wheels around and comes by for another pass; Matt deflects again, this time knocking him back a few feet with a jab to the nose. As it starts to bleed, a burst of static in Matt's ear breaks his concentration a second, but Lucky already has the butterfly bared in his hand as he blinks through tearing eyes. _Oh yes, that's what I forgot- plays dirty, fights dirtier._ He should've been expecting a weapon.

Lucky rushes him. Matt spins and catches his outstretched arm in a lock, gripping Lucky's wrist and pulling the arm down hard over his shoulder. He hears the slightly sickening _snap_ as Lucky's elbow dislocates, the knife as it clatters to the ground, the hoarse scream as Lucky feels the injury and drops to his knees. 

Matt whips around his back, taking the flopping limb with him. He holds Lucky's wrist somewhere near his shoulderblade, and asks a question over his screams. "You work for Marco Stark, don't you?" A groan is his only reply, so Matt takes a deep breath, adds a little twist to the wrist, and asks again. An agonized "Yes!" comes out this time.

"Thank you," Matt begins politely. Arthur likes to comment that unless he's really upset, his interrogations always sound like chatter at a tea party. "Now, would you like to tell us everything you know about his business, or would you prefer to be loyal to Mr. Stark and end up dead in this alleyway?" Another pause, another twist, another reply in the pained affirmative.

"Wonderful. Now let me just get a ziptie to bind these wrists..." Matt reaches into his back pocket, and it happens. Lucky has been pressing at his nose with his other hand, the small motions mostly unnoticed- until he suddenly reaches up and grabs Matt's neck. Matt struggles against it, but he's caught off-guard just enough for Lucky to get his head near to talk. The awkward angle he's standing in now means straightening up without one of them letting go isn't an option.

"Listen, mate. Stark would kill me for ratting- but for killing the guy who tried to make me? I'll get a raise. Might even get a thank you." His fingers are sliding into Matt's hair when Matt suddenly shoves himself off his feet. Lucky crumbles to the ground, cushioning Matt's fall and giving him a chance to get an arm around his neck. The compression hold blocks blood flow to the brain within 10 seconds, and Lucky's lights go out with a little whimper. Matt secures his hands behind his back and gets to his feet, stretching his neck so far the _pop_ rattles his eyes in his skull.

Darvill's voice drones in his ear. "Not exactly the cleanest, but I guess it'll do."

Matt shrugs. "He was a dirty guy. It seemed fitting."

Arthur snorts quietly at that, and Matt hears the taps of the keyboard relaying information to a cleaner team as he picks up his jacket and heads out of the alley. Wincing as he slips it back on, he asks, "You got the club feed up yet?"

"Surely you jest with that question, Smith?"

"Sorry. Just curious. How'd the PFGs work?" Perception Filter Glasses- one of the latest inventions from a company known as Blue Box- emitted a signal that targeted mental perception. By programming in a set of factors, anyone in range would see whatever you wanted them to see. Even security monitors would record the programmed data- unless the footage were deciphered by a special program. Matt had been selected to field test them.

"I'm looking at a blonde rugby player, 180 cm, blue eyes, with a scar on his chin. Rather dashing, if you go for that sort of thing. Course anything's an improvement over that front porch you've got."

"Shut up, man." Arthur chuckles good-naturedly in his ear. Climbing into the car, Matt notices the time.

Damn. He's going to be late.

* * *

 

She takes an assignment at the Shaw Towers. Arriving in a black trenchcoat and matching domino, fedora fetchingly askew over barely tamed curls, she’s ushered in to see her “client” for the evening. Jeopardy! is playing as she's checked over by security and escorted to the door. **River Song knows the real name of the main character on this series, but we don't; there have been 12 so far.** "What is Doctor Who?" she replies casually as she sweeps into the bedroom.

Her client is Marco Stark, a South American national who's been in the UK for six years and has his fingers in all sorts of sticky pies, from money laundering to arms trading- and a real taste for kink.

Producing handcuffs from her bag, she has him bound on his knees before he can breathe out a greeting. The fedora is folded and stashed, the trench undone with calculated carelessness to reveal a black leather and jersey catsuit. Her lush curves are further highlighted with a corset, producing cleavage that could fell an ox at 20 yards.

Her captive lets out a pleased moan at her attire, and hungrily eyes the pointy toes and blunt heels of her laced up leather boots. The riding crop is snapped out, flexed and impatient, and her heels making ringing thuds on the polished hardwood as she circles him.

“Have you been a naughty boy?” She purrs, her voice low and sinuous. It’s a deadly warning, like a snake beginning to hiss and rattle, but the client follows the way of most prey and somehow misses it completely.

“Oh yes Mistress.” He’s rewarded for a prompt answer with a flick across his shoulders.

“Have you been doing things you shouldn’t?” As she makes a new pass before him, he lunges a bit, desperate for a taste of the textured panels that hug up her sides. His jaw nearly goes sideways when her hand connects in a slap. “Tsk tsk. Bad boy. I didn’t say you could have dessert yet, did I?” Rather than answer aloud, he swallows his elation and gives a quick shake of his head. Standing behind him again, she runs her short fingers through his slightly greasy hair, tightening her hold at the crown to yank his head back. Her waiting lips hover near his ear as she eyes the exposed vulnerable column of his throat. “If there will be no further interruption, shall we continue?”

His Adam’s apple bobs rapidly as he swallows, nodding his head the scant inch or so her tight hold allows. “Yes. If you please, Mistress.”

She releases him with an almost bored “Very well” and discreetly wipes her hand off on the soft material of her jodhpurs. “Where were we? Oh yes, things you shouldn’t have been doing.” She flicks the crop at random points on his biceps, the sides of his ribcage, safe points across the mid-back, like ticking items off a checklist. “Speaking out of turn, trying to taste without permission, cheating on your wife of 3 months… “ He senses the shift just as she pulls out the gun and levels it at his chest. “And of course, violating international arms treaties to make a profit. That’s rather a big no-no. Especially when you’re in competition with my employers.”

Two slugs from the suppressed pistol are in his chest before the next breath is drawn. His guards don’t hear a thing, but she knows she can’t go back out that way. Securing her things, she attaches a micro-claw to the railing, takes a few paces back, and leaps off into the night. The monofilament concealed in the textured panels unspools rapidly as she rushes toward the ground, suspended like bloody Mary Poppins, arms out like a superhero- an avenging angel alighting onto the city below.

The threads run out a foot off the pavement, and she lands gracefully, giving her curls a fluff as a sleek towncar pulls up to the curb. _Thank god for the BBC_ , she muses as she starts to unclasp her corset in the backseat. _No one even bats an eye anymore._

By the time the car drops her off at home, she's pinned her hair into a twist and thrown a silky peasant style tunic over the catsuit with a leather belt and some suitable silver jewelry she keeps in a travel kit. She looks like a boho art teacher, but it's better than raising brows as some comic-book dominatrix. She'd run out of time to fully change a few months back, and had shown up to a housewarming wearing fishnets and leather knee-high boots under a pastel sweater set and pencil skirt.

Once in the safety of the bedroom, she pulls open the door on her armoire and hangs up her trench. The second hanger hook flips up, causing a panel to slide open in the bottom. Her gun, silencer and thigh holster of throwing pins find a home in foam slots; fedora, mask, folded corset and collapsible riding crop are tossed on top.

She has just pressed the compartment shut when the shower door opens, letting out a billowing cloud of steam. Matt emerges like a romance novel cover, towel wrapped around his lean hips, perpetually floppy hair dripping across his forehead. Her mouth goes dry as her eyes follow a droplet of water snaking down his chest; she licks her lips as she imagines following it down with her tongue. A little shiver racing down her spine brings her back to the present, just in time to register Matt's voice asking if she's alright.

"Yeah. I'm fine. You startled me, is all. I didn't think you'd be home."

"Well we have that thing at the Greens' tonight."

"I know, darling, but when I was late I thought you'd go on without me."

He shakes his head, sending little droplets in her direction. "Nah. Wouldn't feel right, turning up alone. Besides I got back late myself. Figured I'd hop in the shower."

"Oh? Why were you late?"

"Last-minute drinks meeting."

"Everything go alright?"

He considers a moment, then nods. "We got Lucky. What kept you?"

"Had to drop in on a client," she says smoothly.

"Hmm," he says softly, letting his eyes run over her. "Well, speaking of dropping in, I'd better go change." He picks up a hangered outfit and pops a kiss on her temple as he goes past to the bedroom.

She smiles after him a moment, then heads to the bathroom to freshen up. Something in his hamper stops her short. One of Matt's dress shirts is on top, a small red stain on the collar. She picks it up to examine it better in the light, and catches a trace of something else. Bringing the shirt to her nose, she sniffs. The mixture of sweat and unfamiliar perfume stings her eyes- or so she would say to anyone who questioned the tears that suddenly spring up.

Blinking hard, she squares her shoulders, tosses the shirt back into the hamper and walks to the sink. If she slams the bathroom door shut with a well placed roundhouse, her reflection knows better than to comment.


	4. A Hole in the Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath of last night.  
> chapter title from "Say It Right" by Nelly Furtado. (probably not the best song choice, but it jumped in while I was writing.)

Matt is sitting in his office, feet on his desk, staring off into the distance, when Arthur comes bustling in. Whatever he’s about to say drops in favor of “What’s the matter with you?”

“I think Alex is mad at me. But I don’t know why.”

Arthur rolls his eyes up to regard the ceiling with a “why me?” expression, then sits in one of the chairs across the desk. “What happened?”

“Last night, she came home late, looking amazing but late. We talked a bit, I gave her a kiss as I went to get dressed cause we had that thing-“

“At the Greens,” Arthur choruses with him. Matt shoots him a glare for his cheek and continues. “Anyway. Everything was fine. Then she went to freshen up and it’s like she decided to accessorize with a chip on her shoulder. She barely talked to me all night.”

Revealing his lack of desire to actually hear this, Arthur scratches the back of his neck and asks, “And… after the, ahem, party?”

One corner of Matt's mouth quirks into a fraction of a smile with the memory. “She was reading in bed; those little glasses- hello. But her flannel bottoms and a cami, so-“ “No sex,” Arthur again finishes with him. “Anyway, I went to kiss her good night, and she pulled away. Then I started to ask if she could kill the light so I could get to sleep, and she just flipped the page. Said she wanted to finish the chapter.”

Arthur sighs. "Maybe it was a really good chapter. Anyway," he jumps in when Matt goes to open his mouth again, "the reason I came in. We have a problem with the info we got from your boy Lucky."

Matt shifts gears into business mode by dropping his feet to the floor. "What happened? Our intel was supposed to be rock solid!"

"And I'm sure it was, mate, but that's not the problem. Stark's dead."

"What?!" A hand is on his forehead in an instant, running through his flop of dark hair in frustration as he starts crunching hypotheticals in his head. "When?"

Arthur flips open the folder he'd come in with, and starts laying out the details. "Last night. His suite at the Shaw Towers. Double tap to the chest. Discovered by his security detail."

"No, no, no!" Matt moans, screwing his eyes shut against the bad news. "We were sending a team to extract him in _two hours_. How did this happen?" Consulting the manila oracle once more for answers, Arthur gets a look on his face Matt nearly misses in his moment of professional anguish. "What? Darvill, what is it?"

Arthur lets out a little puff of air, the exhalation heavy with confusion and puzzlement. "Well... it's just that, according to this, he was handcuffed."

Matt feels his forehead wrinkle at the oddity. "So... what- interrogation? Someone tried to get him to talk? But then how'd they get past the guards?" He puzzles to himself for half a minute before Darvill drops another bombshell.

"Handcuffed. And shot while on his knees." _Hmmm,_ Matt ponders, stroking his chin thoughtfully. _New interrogator? Gangland execution?_ "In his underwear, with fresh whip marks on his shoulders and back."

Okay, maybe that _last_ part didn't quite fit but--

"It was a kink thing, Smith." He mutters something that sounds a lot like 'jeez, do I really have to spell these things out?' before he continues in a more normal voice. "He had a... visitor. Guards remember a woman, a... _specialist,_ coming in to work with Mr. Stark. Couldn't give much of a description beyond _cleavage that could take down Secretariat_ (they both roll their eyes at that) but a scan on their blood showed a mild hallucinogenic. Would explain why they didn't notice her coming back out, or anything unusual before they found the body."

A pro, female, either with a partner or team of her own or chemistry in her background. Matt mulls this over, trying to make a sensical picture out of the puzzle pieces he's been handed. Something doesn't seem to fit right, but he can't quite figure out what. "So... what're we supposed to do about the blown Stark angle?"

Arthur shifts a bit. "They're giving you 72 hours to sort it out. Dorium's waiting for your call."

"Oh great," Matt huffs, inadvertently blowing his fringe out of his eyes. "A last-minute overnight to explain to the missus."

"You know Alex won't mind. She trusts you. Always has."

 _Let's hope so,_ goes the unspoken reply. Matt shakes off the thought and starts drafting a list of supplies he'll need for his recon and repair trip. Arthur hands over the file to read more thoroughly later.

They've just secured Matt's 'travel documents' when Craig, an adorably pudgy and pale lab geek who's always going on about his family, comes bustling in with a stack of new assignments. "Sorry to break in, guys, but we've got... stuff." Matt sighs and waves him closer. "Monday's op resulted in two kills and an agent in protective custody."

Matt holds his hand out for the folder, commenting as Craig hands it over that they'll get the guy out tomorrow. "Next?"

Craig flips to a new page. "Two cases of the G40s came in this morning, the phosphorus rounds come in next week, and the new grenade launchers just arrived." Arthur nods and suggests ordering another 10; Craig scribbles a note while Matt attaches a post-it to the page he's reading and tosses the file down. He suddenly looks serious.

"And?" Craig looks at him blankly. Matt's eyes go wide with incredulity. "Craig- the **most** important thing we needed to know."

"Oh!" Nearly losing the stack still under his arm as he fumbles the notes, Craig finally finds what he needs. "Your suits. The tweed jacket is still being repaired- hollow points and Harris don't mix, sir. But the new three-piece is back; the vest has been bulletproofed and they added an extra half-inch to the cuffs and trousers."

Matt sits back with a relieved sigh, rubbing his hands excitedly. "Excellent."

* * *

 

When Alex arrives at the office, dressed to kill in a tailored blue suit and curls tamed into a billowy chignon, Kaz is waiting at the foot of the stairs with a mug of coffee one could swim in. She's wearing a red and black plaid button-down, skintight blue jeans and a relieved expression on her face. “Honestly, Kaz. We do this every morning.”

The ginger in question hands over the coffee, and Alex takes a sip gratefully while Kaz replies. "I know but I still worry, 'specially after you’ve had a job. Speaking of, any problems with Stark?”

Alex relinquishes the caffeine back to its owner and shakes her head. “Went off without a hitch. The scrambler perfume worked like a charm too. I'd be surprised if those guys could remember I was even there."

"I heard about your outfit. Trust me- their unconscious will have total recall."

Alex lets out a little laugh, then sobers. " _Anyway_. Point is, nothing amiss. I was in and out, clean as a whistle.”

“Out in time for that thing at the Greens, yeah?”

Alex freezes a second, forcing her lips into a convincing imitation of a smile. “Absolutely.”

“How was it?”

“Oh you know, the usual,” Alex says with a flippant wave of her hand. “Bad nibbles, boring chat, great wine.”

Kaz pins her with a look, scrutinizing like a mother looking over her daughter. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” For all her skills at blending into the skin of another person, Alex is painfully aware of how unconvincing that sounded. "It's just a pain when I have to dress to tens every morning, while you get to look like an extra in a tv show. All... comfortable," she gestures at Kaz's casual ensemble.

Resolving to get to the bottom of it later, Kaz shrugs, loops her arm around Alex’s waist and drags her towards the Development Lab. “Oh, Kaz… I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, come on, Alex. Every girl likes stuff that's shiny and new!” She giggles at that, and lets Kaz drag her.

Arriving, she deposits Alex at the underlit table and goes to retrieve a steel flight case. Inside is a rectangular velvet box. It’s the kind of thing jewelry comes in, but Alex knows this isn’t exactly Tiffany’s. Adopting a snooty French accent (made doubly hilarious by her inability to remove the Scotch burr) Kaz asks, "Can I interest _madame_ in anything especial today?" and pops the case.

When it opens, she gasps at the beautiful array it contains. Glancing at the necklaces, her focus is drawn to one with a small pendant on a thin chain. The dove grey pearl is embraced from the top by a small swirling setting of gold. Alex's finger brushes it softly, and Kaz praises her taste in faux French before dropping the act and getting down to business. “Microtag. Can pinpoint within 6 inches. And just in case…” She holds the pendant with her fingers and places Alex’s hand palm up beneath it. Depressing a small switch in the clasp, the pendant releases and the pearl falls into Alex’s hand. “Can be easily planted on a mark if you need to track him in a pinch.”

With a soft contemplative 'hummm' Alex takes a second to consider the small device in her hand and the lovely simplicity of the remaining necklace before handing it over and moving on.

“What about these,” she asks of the earrings. The crystalline chandeliers jangle and wink in the light as they shiver when Alex picks one up. “Those are micro-explosives. Press the back of the hook to the post and they fall apart. Detonate in 30 seconds from being released.”

Alex nods, sets the piece back down, then cocks her head to one side. “Can we make it 45?”

Kaz gives her a look. “For you? Sure. Now these," she says, picking up the beaded drops, “I’m particularly proud of.”

“I’m all ears, darling.”

Rolling her eyes at the pun, Kaz explains. “Dissolves in liquid- milk, water, champagne, juice- and reacts with stomach acid. Will mix with blood if you want, but you’d have to pour it directly over a wound or inject it for it to be as effective. Anyway, it hits the stomach- death within 60 seconds.”

Alex looks at her with a light in her eyes. “Poison?”

“Yep. Neutralizes within 5 minutes. Totally untraceable.”

"Kaz you’re a genius."

Blowing softly on her impressively violet nails and dusting them on her shirt, Kaz smirks. “I know. Meanwhile, Marilyn Monroe had it wrong. Diamonds aren’t a girl’s best friend-“

“You are,” Alex finishes emphatically.

Kaz ponders this a moment, then nods. "Not where I was going with that, but hey- I’ll take it."

At that moment, Jenna pops her head in. "Sorry to interrupt, Alex, but we have some news." Alex looks apologetically at the redhead, who waves her off with a nonchalant hand.

"We'll talk later. Go on, get out of here. People need killin'... and stuff." Alex stops long enough to steal another mouthful of coffee and press a kiss to Kaz's cheek before following Jenna out, her quiet voice already rattling off information.

* * *

Dinner's at 7. Matt sits at one end of their dining room table, poring over a magazine article about a new tower project in Brazil. He hasn't touched his meal yet, he's so distracted. Alex sits at the opposite end, eyeing him with a hint of impatience. Eventually, she sets her napkin in her lap and clears her throat. Matt breaks off mid-sentence about a Suite Vollard comparison and sees Alex picking up her silverware.

"Oh. Sorry, honey." He hastily sets the papers aside and places his napkin in his lap, eyeing the plate as he does so. "Hmm. This looks nice. Did you... do something... different?"

She resists the urge to roll her eyes and instead hides her smile around a bite of turkey meatloaf and wild rice. "Mm-hmm," she confirms, swallowing and dabbing the corner of her mouth before speaking. "I added peas."

Matt scrutinizes the bite he's about to take. "Oh, yeah. Peas. So that's the... green." He pops the bite into his mouth and gives an 'eyebrows up' nod of approval. "Yum!"

Alex lets the smile show this time, reaching for her wineglass and taking a sip... just as he asks for the salt. She swallows a bit hurriedly, the gulp almost audible. "It's in the middle of the table." Matt's eyes flick to where the shakers sit, a staid little couple in a sea of green linen.

"Oh. Is that the middle of the table?"

Slicing out a portion with surgical position, Alex nods. "Yes. It's between you and me."

 _So many things are these days,_ they each think, unaware the other is sharing their thought.

He gets to his feet, reaching a long limb for the shaker, then spots Alex and sits back down for a moment. He looks like he's thinking, then apparently reaches an accord with himself, for he gives a decisive little nod and scoots out his chair. He stands, grabs his plate, and heads for the seat on Alex's right- pausing to acquire the salt shaker on the way. She pauses in the chewing of her mouthful to track this strange maneuver, resuming as he sits down. She swallows while he settles back in, scooting the chair in and replacing his napkin in his lap. "Hello."

He looks up at her, a little smile playing on his lips. "Hello," he replies and pops in a bite, eyes lighting up as he chews in lieu of a full-on grin.

"Uh, darling..." she begins uncertainly, her voice faltering when his fingers graze the inside of her wrist for a second.

"I just figured... we could use one less thing between us tonight." He takes another bite, his eyes never leaving hers.

That space is still there, and it's still crammed full of all those unspoken words, and the newest questions she can't bring herself to ask are on top of the heap... but she appreciates that he's trying. And that little _zing_ she felt at the touch of his hand adds a genuineness to the smile that touches her lips in silent response.

They're still not talking... but they might be starting to communicate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay. real life is demanding a lot of time and attention.  
> more's on the way. comments are appreciated.


	5. You Better Get Your Coat, Dear- It Looks Like Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> breakfast in bed... and Jim the Fish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter heading from the appropriately named "Madman Across the Water" by Elton John- for the title... and for something else.

The morning dawns bright and clear. Alex groans and tries to snuggle a little closer to Matt… but finds herself clutching air instead. _What on earth?_ She ponders. The sheets are still warm- he can’t have gone far. Then she hears a small crashing noise and lets herself fall back against the pillows with a roll of her eyes and a smile. He’s puttering in the kitchen again; bless.

A few minutes later, following a thud, a muffled curse and a rattling of dishes, he appears in the bedroom doorway, bearing a laden tray. Only limping a little as he deposits it across her lap, he bids her a “Good morning” with a kiss on her cheek. She takes the opportunity as he climbs in beside her to run a sweep of his body, her gaze landing on the pinkened skin of a big toe. _Probably stubbed it on that wonky leg on the sideboard,_ she concludes as she takes a sip of tea.

“So… what did I do to deserve this honor?” She gestures at the lavish and only slightly charred breakfast set out before her- complete with a pink rose in one of her handmade vases.

Matt scratches at his cheek before reaching for a piece of buttered toast and the jam, purposely avoiding her eye. “What? A fellow can’t treat his wife to breakfast in bed, say ‘I love you’, for no re- okay I need to go out of town for a job,” he finishes in a hurry when she arches her eyebrow at him and tips her head to one side. That look could quail a Columbian cartel into confessing their sins.

She sighs. “When are you leaving?” she asks in a neutral tone before taking a bite of over-salted egg. He doesn’t answer right away, and she swallows the attempt before turning to face him. “Matt?” she prompts, already feeling a bit of dread at what she can guess is coming. “When are you supposed to leave?”

He’s examining the contents of his teacup like a fortuneteller trying to divine fate, and maybe he is, since he manages a muted “an hour” that her ears can just barely make out.

The click as the puzzle pieces fall together in her mind is like the sound of a cocking hammer on a Smith and Wesson. “And I’m assuming you knew about this sometime **yesterday** -" A surreptitious glance confirms her assumption is correct- “so this spontaneous little gesture is just to smooth things over?” She shoves the tray away and draws up her knees, wrapping her arms around them to keep from smacking him so hard his jaw resets.

It takes a few deep breaths before she calms, continuing in a quiet tone that bears only a trace of the hurt she’s trying not to feel. “You could have told- no. You _should_ have told me last night.”

“You’re right,” he acknowledges. “No excuse for it. Or me.” The sound of his voice makes her turn just as he peers up at her through the fringe flopping across his brow with such a sad puppy expression she’s powerless to be truly upset. The urge to slap him is waning, even as it takes her appetite with it. She turns away with a sigh.

His chin ends up propped on her shoulder and she can feel his breath tickling her neck. “I know you’re cross with me.” When waiting for a response yields nothing but a pregnant pause, he tries again. “Or… disappointed? Whatever it is, I know it’s a bit not good.” Her tiny snuffle of suppressed laughter is encouraging. “Still, maybe this could be… sort of a positive thing.”

“And just how did you arrive at that conclusion, _Matthew_?”

He straightens away as soon as he hears it. _Uh-oh. Full name. Not good._ “Oh, uh, well, you…” She can tell the moment inspiration strikes. “You could go visit your dad! I know you miss him; it’s been an age since you’ve seen him. You’re always so busy, and our schedules never mesh to go down- it’s brilliant!”

_Hmmm. I could take an out of town assignment without having to make something up for a change..._

The considering expression on her face heartens him to sneak an arm around her shoulders and tug her out of her stiff posture into his lap. He manages a few tickles before he ends up beneath her, his wrists pinned down by her knees, dazed and working out the mechanics of exactly how he got here- and what he can do to stay.

That bottom lip of hers slips between her teeth as she starts to close the gap between them. He feels her breath ghost over his mouth, then a soft brush of her lips on his- just as a Guns n Roses songs blares out of his mobile. A quiet groan escapes her as Alex’s forehead comes to rest on his; she almost seems… disappointed. Again. Then she whips off him with that feline agility and is tossing him his phone as she saunters out of the room.

He has time to sigh before he punches the “answer” button. “Hello, Craig. No mate- perfect timing. As usual.”

37 minutes later, he’s showered, packed and dressed in a travel suit. Alex is contemplating wardrobe for the day, but manages a ‘good journey’ when he presses a goodbye kiss to her temple. Popping into the backseat of the waiting towncar, he watches until the house is out of sight before turning his attention to the itinerary in his lap. He can always fix it when he gets back… at least, he hopes he can.

* * *

That morning, Alex lets herself be a few seconds late entering the office. She hates making Kaz worry but knows the extra time is necessary to school her face. It’s too hard keeping the emotion out of her eyes; she’s good but Kaz has always been able to spot the cracks in her wall and she is  **not** in the mood to talk about this.

The redhead is hopping from one booted foot to the other when Alex makes her way down the stairs. “God! Thought you were **never** going to get here. There’s news!" She grabs Alex’s hand and tugs her down to the display wall, where specs are flashing by for a short guy with decidedly ichthyian eyes. “We found a location for Jim the Fish!”

Alex feels herself light up a bit at the news. "Jim the Fish?! He’s been building that dam of his for ages. How is he?”

Kaz shrugs. “Not great. We’re gonna blow the dam.”

"Oh. I see. But the specs are for Lancashire. When did he get back to the Lake District?”

"No idea but Kovarian wants _you_ on the job. Requested you personally. Think Matt’ll be okay with you taking off overnight?"

“Something tells me he won’t mind at all,” Alex hedges, marveling at the lack of bitterness in her tone. “I’ll tell him I want to go visit my dad.”

“Good one,” Kaz agrees. “Any time he suggests it, you’re always so busy. And your schedules never mesh to go down together-“ Alex halts her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Kaz. Sweetie. I have to work it out that way. He’s not really my dad,” Alex reminds her gently. The Scot just smiles and touches her forehead to Alex’s.

“I know that, ya numpty.” Alex waits for further elucidation, but Karen just pulls back and slings her arm around Alex’s shoulders. “Now let’s get you outfitted and ready to go. And remember- if you let anything happen to you-“

“I know, I know. You’ll kill me yourself,” Alex finishes. It’s a silly thing, given their profession, and emotional attachment is a tricky proposition under the best of circumstances. But despite every reason that makes sense to keep things strictly professional, she’s close with all of her team, this little band of companions. Darling Jenna, her lethal brilliance somehow never at war with her practical optimism. Donna with her fiery sass and enough tech savvy to leave any man speechless (even if, as the older redhead complained, they always managed to start up again.) Even Billie, the pouting crossover analyst whose main skills were flirtation and fast driving, had transcended mere colleague when she’d gotten Alex past four heavily guarded border gates on a dodgy assignment.

She’d take a bullet for all of them but Kaz is special. They’re best friends, closer than sisters, a borderline mother-daughter thing. It’s somehow even fitting that despite the age gap, it’s Kaz who manages maternal concern for Alex- rather than the expected other way round.

_It’s just nice_ , Alex admits to herself before heading into Stock and Supply with a sigh. At least the assignment is a distraction. As far as she’s concerned, it couldn’t be coming at a better time.

* * *

The dam of one Jim the Fish has been a labor of love for half a decade. Built on a freshwater tributary of the Mersey River, it has slowly created a vibrant eco-haven nicknamed Lake Silencio for the amount of groups its creator had managed to shut up during his build. Environmentalists and capitalists alike had a hard-on for smiting his attempt at creating a natural habitat in an urban wasteland, using every motivation from potential dangers to indigenous species to more profitable uses for the land- yet he had emerged victorious in every court they’d managed to haul him into. Despite the constant delays caused by the frivolous litigation, Jim stolidly continued on his build, using personal funds and online donations to fund the project.

Alex really did like him and considered his undertaking a noble one- but a job is a job and being handpicked for a 'special assignment' is another matter altogether. So with a sigh, she checks the digital display of the terrain and breaks out the binoculars for the ninth time in two hours, waiting for this idiot to get off his damned dam and go get some dinner so she could blow it to hell. The unusual humidity near the spot wreaks continual havoc on her curls, until it prompts drastic action- double French braids more suitable to dairymaids than femme fatales. At least she hadn't had to slink around the hotel where Jim's latest investor was staying for the location; Kaz's scrambler perfume hadn't been in her bag and she didn't feel like dealing with erasing her existence from surveillance cameras today.

Taking a vicious bite of a carrot as she peers once again over her Aviators- with built in Bluetooth and Telelink- she’s about to say sod it and start doing yoga to pass the time when a strange mechanical sound and some movement across the water catches her eye. _Damn,_ she thinks, slipping off a dangling earring. A witness is not part of the plan.

* * *

Matt pulls up beneath the shade of a solar panel on the far side of the dam, allowing a moment of concern that his getaway vehicle is shuddering with a wheeze like a three-pack-a-day smoker. But it was the most inconspicuous ride the company could manage on short notice after his Tesla vanished from the hotel carpark. At least his weapons and the PFGs had been in the case in his room, rather than in the trunk- a last minute decision that he chalked up now to providence. His mobile hadn’t fared so well, and he could only hope Alex didn’t have some dire emergency before he got home; heaven help him if he were inexplicably incommunicado. But back to the task at hand.

The task is simple: find and interrogate Jim the Fish about the new head on the hydra (i.e. who’s taking over the Stark syndicate now that its title character is pushing up petunias.) Following a royal ass-chewing, Dorium gave him the target specs and a hotel card key and told him to beat it. After two hours on a mind-numbing circuit between the lobby and bar, he’d gotten a tip and directions to the dam. Even his cover is easy: the blonde rugby player making another appearance as an engineering student wanting to help.

_Fishy eyes, pasty skin, unfortunate taste in Hawaiian shirts… that’s my man,_ Matt decides once he spots the figure perching near a control valve through his binoculars. Releasing the safety on the Glock hidden in a back holster, Matt is just about to emerge from the shadow when he registers a flash and a muffled _whoosh_. A “Look out!” is barely out of his mouth when something lands around Jim’s feet with a series of tiny splashes.

Both men are equally puzzled as Jim the Fish fishes a broken earring out of the water. Staring at it curiously as the target turns the find this way and that, Matt is caught in an internal debate about abandoning his cover... until he gets distracted by a strange echoing beep. His eyes go wide when he hears several sustained tones and the PFGs go flying as he hits the deck with an ‘ooph’ a split second before the dam explodes in a splashy wall of water and debris.

Retreating behind the car in an army crawl, Matt takes a few calming breaths before retrieving an S-19 RPG launcher from the case and settling it atop his shoulder. The digital read on the sight scans as he pans it along the boiling shoreline, searching for any sign of life. “Gotcha, Pippi” he comments with a smile as the guide locks on the lone figure in a blind on the former far bank. He has a moment to appreciate the rather splendid ass on her as she puts down her binoculars and goes flying over a section of wall before the RPG releases. The blind is obliterated but as the splintery smoke clears he spots a hovercraft speeding into the distance, bearing his mystery woman away with it.

He might have been spotted in real form, his second lead in as many days is dead, and the person responsible has just gotten away... for the second time. Matt throws the S-19 into the backseat with a frustrated grunt and kicks the door shut before heading towards Jim’s small cabin with a heavy sigh. If there’s anything around worth salvaging he better find it fast- before someone wearing a badge arrives.

* * *

The world is blowing by in a rush, something is nagging the back of her mind like a run in a silk stocking, and Alex knows Kovarian won’t be happy at the loose end she’s leaving in her wake- but getting caught would bring an infinitely worse punishment. At least she’d gotten her man, she notes with muted satisfaction as she heads for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. the wait was inexcusable... but somewhat unavoidable. I've been trying- really I have- to get the next installment of this ready. I've had more *after* this point done for a while, and I'm still tweaking and writing and fixing and creating... but this? this part took some creative maneuvering and a good bit of that had to wait until the Inspiration Fairy deigned to get off her wings and come over.  
> once I recovered from the hit, I let it keep going rather than slice it up into two separate chapters (partly b.c I worried that assignments vs execution might not be long enough on their own, and partly b.c I know I've kept you waiting long enough. anyone still reading at this point deserved a meaty chapter.)  
> there IS more on the way, and I promise it won't take as long. I'm editing as we speak, so it'll be up soon.  
> and yes, I know it was an R-47 in the film. I like an S-19.
> 
> thanks to anyone sticking around for this. love you guys!


	6. One More Lie Could Be the Worst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title comes from listening to 3 Doors Down "You love me (but you don't know who I am)"

After the debacle at the dam, Matt knows he needs answers before Dorium requests crucial anatomy- like his head.

He goes to see his sister, LJ. One of the only people he trusts besides Alex and Arthur, she’s a burlesque queen in West London- and a computer whiz. But her bizarre work schedule means catching her awake and in a giving mood is a tricky thing.

A fusillade of knocks on her door results in a string of profanity heralding her arrival. She’s still coated in glitter, one fake eyelash is stuck to her cheek like a dark butterfly, and she’s wearing a glare and a pink satin robe not quite covering some… frippery bits. Leveling a blood red fingernail at his nose (curse their matching heights) she utters in a venomous tone, “ _You_. Had _better._ Have coffee.”

He offers up the double shot pumpkin chai latte with extra whip he bribes a local vendor to keep on hand year round, and eases past the finger to pop a kiss on her cheek. “And good afternoon to you too, Lor.”

“Bite me, Matty- we did a double encore last night.” Three sips and a few uncomfortably sensual moans later, LJ is starting to perk up. “Alright, baby brother- what can I do you for?” He holds up a charred display monitor he'd turned up before approaching sirens sent him scurrying. LJ slides up a penciled arch. “Eeesh. What’d you do- stop an alien invasion with this for a shield?”

"Not quite." He trusts his sister to the ends of the universe, but she doesn't know everything about his work- aside from the obvious, that he only does architecture part time and has... unusual hobbies. Hopping back on subject, he asks hopefully, "Can you do anything with it?"

"We'll see." After working in silence a few minutes to remove what's left of the casing, she pins him with a look. "Why do you need to know so bad?"

"I’m just trying to return a bit of property to its rightful owner. That’s me- always doing the right thing." She looks skeptical but continues prying the innards apart with twin forceps. She makes a little musing sound as she carefully extracts a small chip. "What? What is it?"

She holds up the chip, turning it so he can see the strange spiral circuits on its rear. “This inclusive short-range buffer? It's a trial product; I saw it at a trade show a month or so back. Company had a weird name... Blue Box?" Matt files that coincidence away for later examination and waits patiently while she inputs a series of numbers and checks out the results on her screen. "Alright. There’s no name, just a billing and shipping address.” She scribbles it down and passes it over. As soon as he’s looking at the slip of paper, he feels this little niggle of impending doom but can’t quite figure why.

They catch up a few minutes more before she kicks him out with an affectionate hug. “And bring that wife of yours by for dinner sometime. It’s been forever.” He crosses his heart twice and hops in the car.

He skirts through downtown with ease, glad to be behind the wheel of his Audi once more. Towncars are all well and good, and the SUV he drives daily and Teslas he drives on certain assignments are wonderful company vehicles. But truth be told, he loves his baby. After Alex and his sister (and okay, his mum as well) it's his favorite lady.

Double checking the address Lor had given him when he pulls up, he feels that little twinge of foreboding as he parks and heads inside.

As soon as he enters the lobby of the Archer Building, an uncomfortable prickle starts tickling up his spine. When he sees the company name on the directory plaque he feels like he’s on a lift and someone cut the cable. His stomach zips from his throat to his shoes as his eyes scan over the suite number Lor provided to the final nails in the coffin- **M. Kovarian: CEO. Alex Kingston: head of Companion Analyst Division.**

A hand flies to his forehead to slow his reeling mind as he utters a single expletive. He takes a minute to compose himself, then slides the mobile from his pocket and punches a button.

* * *

 

Having spent an uncomfortable morning in Kovarian's lair, Alex descends onto the floor like a Valkyrie- hair shivering under the restraint of a hair elastic, eyes blazing like emeralds. They are going to get this guy- there is not a doubt in her mind.

Girls are analyzing satellite images and checking cell towers and trolling message boards without success. Three hours in, Kaz forces everyone to take a break, and hauls Alex bodily across the street for lunch.

Alex is reviewing the video feed for the hundredth time when she has a brainwave. "Can you cue up to earlier in the day? Say, 3 maybe 4 o'clock?" Jenna doesn't even bother with that _are you kidding?_ look she usually doles out before complying.

That close to the end of the day, the lobby was buzzing with activity- making it ideal for blending in. But one figure, hovering in a loop between the bar and the check-in desk, catches her eye. He's blonde, bulky, with a build like a rugby defender and a little scar on his chin- bless high res displays- but beyond that there's nothing really remarkable about him. More interesting targets draw her focus, but it keeps returning to him. _Maybe it's the outfit,_ she muses. He's in a suit, nicely tailored and well cut, wearing expensive looking leather ankle boots, glasses and a somewhat out of place ball cap (colors she recognizes but can't place). Despite his obvious height, he's clearly agile, almost graceful in his movements. And even though he doesn't seem to match the silhouette of the shooter from the dam, her eye keeps straying to linger; the more it does, the more curious she becomes.

_Why on earth does he-_ "Stop. Loop that back." Jenna winds back about 10 seconds and sets the image on a loop. The man at the desk turns on his heel and goes to sweep back towards the bar- until the toe of his boot catches on a small table of pens and brochures. Three pens go flying in all directions- and he catches each one before they hit the ground. Setting them back on the table, he glances around checking for an audience, then heads back to the bar.

The image repeats over and over, and Alex has Jenna tighten it- first to the catch, then to the trip. His grip, those boots, the way his other heel shoots back to help him balance... Recognition is trying to dawn, held at bay by some stubborn mental block.

_What is it? It's... it's-_

"Uh, Alex? It's your husband."

"Wha-?" A protest flies to her lips as she whips around to find Kaz at her elbow, a wireless headset in her hand.

"On the phone?" _Oh. Of course._

Giving herself a little shake, Alex takes the headset, threading it through her curls to answer. "Hello, sweetie."

"Hi, honey. I'm home." It must be the connection that makes his voice sound a little tight.

"That's nice, dear. You don't usually bother me at the office though."

"Yeah, well... just calling to ask about dinner." His voice definitely sounds weird but she doesn't have time to deal with it now.

"Dinner's... at 7."

"Right. Great. I'm gonna pop in to work then home for a kip. See you then."

"Alright. I-" The buzz of the disconnected line is harsh in her ear. He hadn't even said 'I love you.'

Kaz appears wholly absorbed in her schematics, adorably round frames magnifying her already vivid blue eyes. She doesn't say a word, but Alex feels the gentle pressure of Kaz's arm along the length of hers. It's quietly comforting, so she crosses her arms and stays that way for a while, absorbing the support until duty calls once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things. first, I was going to use this song as the title for the next chapter, but found something I liked better, even though I know this one fits. and second, this chapter was originally going to continue all the way through where the next chapter ends, but I felt like breaking it up would be alright. plus this way, you get more chapters out of me, and I feel like I got a bit more accomplished than I did.
> 
> (although I penned the last chapter to this today. uber excited! after uncertainty of how much I wanted to follow the film in terms of its "ending" - which honestly was just a stopping point - I didn't really know *what* I was going to do for a finish. and today that resolved, and now I have a clear sight to the end. *moment of self-congrats* okay. done with that.)


	7. Small concealable weapons go to the far left of the place setting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner's at...7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the title- the Firefly line was too perfect to pass up, but it didn't occur to me until after I'd posted. I'd advise listening to Halestorm "Familiar Taste of Poison" and Bruises "I still miss you (but my aim is getting better)" for fitting background music.

Annoyed by a delay at work, she arrives at 630 about to suggest they just do takeaway... until she walks into a kitchen in mild chaos. Flour and spice are coating three counters, delicious smells are issuing from pots about to erupt, and something is on the verge of burning in the oven. Matt comes reeling in from the living room, yanking open the door and trying to pull the pan out with his bare hands. He makes it about two inches before dropping it with a wince and a yelp. Alex rolls her eyes indulgently, grabs the nearest cloth and rescues the pan. She nudges the oven door closed with her hip, deposits the dish on the counter, switches the dial off and adjusts a few burners before turning to face Matt... who is leaning against the counter with a glass of wine in his less injured hand and a curious expression on his face. "Hello."

"Hello," she says, taking the glass. "What's all this?"

"Wanted to do something... special. Welcome home."

Her smile is warm and genuine, but he misses both the look and her move to drop a kiss on his cheek by turning to stir something now safely simmering on the range and chopping vegetables for a salad.

"I can do that, if you like," she offers, moving beside him and reaching for the knife. As her hand covers his, her arm lays atop his so she feels the sudden tension before he releases the handle. He's being fidgety, almost like he's trying too hard. "How was... I just realized I don't know where you went." Her eyes are on his reflection in the window, otherwise she'd have missed the flinch at her query.

"Cardiff." A red flag starts fluttering in the back of her mind, but she tries to ignore it. He doesn't have a reason to lie.

Still, her eyes refuse to leave his shadow self. "Did everything go alright? You seem a little... tense." He rolls his neck from side to side before answering- _definitely tense._

"Everything was... fine." _He never says fine._  "I just... missed you," he finishes, turning over his shoulder to regard her. Their eyes catch in the windowpane, then she twists back to look at him with a smile.

"I missed you too."

 _Oh you have no idea, love_  he thinks before turning back to focus on the steaming rice and simmering curry he's trying his hand at.

 

Dinner starts quietly, the crunching of salad too loud in the still room. Everything is actually quite tasty, if a tad under or over done. They sit in silence as Alex takes a break from trying to push start a conversation to try the Pad Thai she’d rescued from charring. The noodles are slippery and well-seasoned, if a bit heavy on garlic, and the chicken is tender without being pink. They sip at ice cold Thai beer instead of their usual wine, and her heels have long been shed. It would be delightful… if the tension wasn’t thick enough to skewer on a kebab.

He hadn't done a roast; there hadn't been a need for the razor sharp knives... except that he'd wanted them there. Appetite waning, he fidgets with the blade, surprisingly dexterous as it flips and twirls over his knuckles and palm… until Alex notices the flash and he sets it down with a fumble.

Conversation has lagged once more - it's clear he doesn't really want to talk, despite this odd sense that he's trying to find something out - when it happens. The knife is back in his hand, rolling lazily in his fingers... until without warning he lets it fly. It's not in any real danger of hitting her- it would probably slice the air above her shoulder and embed in the wall - but if she's what he's hoping rather than what he's fearing, she'll have a normal reaction. When your husband throws a knife at you (and please god it's not a frequent thing), most women squeal or jump or dive out of the way. They don't snatch the blade out of mid-air without looking, with the nimble grace of a cat swatting a fly and freeze there. Until their eyes meet yours and the knife suddenly falls harmlessly to the floor. And your world goes with it.

They're on their feet in an instant, suddenly making flimsy excuses to flee, and depart the dining room from opposite ends. Matt has his Glock out and armed by the time he's looped to the side hall, executing a Weaver stance and using his length to advantage to crane around corners while presenting a minimal target. It's all for naught, as it turns out, once he hears the squealing of tires and hits the front door just in time to see Alex blazing out of the drive- in his SUV. He could be in the Audi in 5 seconds but he knows he'd lose her. He whips through the yard and dashes through the neighboring lawns, cutting back between two houses as he spots the headlights turning ahead.

After a block and a half, his lungs are burning and there’s a stitch forming behind his ribs. He thought he was in shape, but a dead run over urban terrain is not exactly something he’s prepped for. But the taillights are still in his view, and he knows where the turn coming up will empty her out. Tossing his head back and putting on a burst of speed that would’ve impressed his old coach, he manages to clear the side yard and emerge on the front lawn just as her car roars onto the block.

He’s going to catch her. They’re going to talk about this. Everything is going to be—

His flaily cover decides to balance out his sudden hubris and his foot lands on a toy truck near the gate. He goes flying forward and narrowly escapes getting impaled on the pickets by crashing through them instead. Of course the sudden jolt to his system causes his gun to fire… and he follows the trajectory with a sudden sinking feeling to Alex’s front windscreen. The car is idling in the middle of the road; he hadn’t even registered the squeal of the brakes. She’d managed to snap out of the way, her body leaning towards the window at a tight angle, the bullet hole visible in the buttery leather headrest. _But at least she’s o-_

“Oh, my giddy aunt,” he gushes as he straightens his limbs out to walk into the road. With every step, her eyes narrow, and the murderous glint they take on seems to glow in the dark. “No no no no,” he tries to assure her, gesturing with the pistol pointed up, his finger resting safely along the slide. “Honey, accident. _Accident_ , okay?”

The engine revs and the tires squeal as she rejects his explanation. He somehow manages to vault onto the hood and scramble up to the roof before she grinds him into the asphalt. “We need to talk about this,” he insists in a strange muffled tone. She glances up, starting at the sight of his face mashed up against the moonroof. “We don’t want to go to bed angry, do we?” _Condescending ass,_ she fumes mentally, wincing as she punches the pane and slams the cover shut.

She takes a hard turn at Gingerbread Lane, trying to fling him off; those damn long limbs of his are surprisingly effective at clinging. For a split second, she considers firing a few shots at the roof… but the idea that she might hit him gives her pause. She loses her train of thought anyway as the glass of the rear window explodes in, followed shortly by her husband. “Now see here-“ is all he manages before she locks the cruise control, tucks and rolls out of the vehicle, and stands just in time to see the car roar over a hedgerow into a ravine.

Sparing a second for a sigh, she limps back towards the house to gather essentials. She needs to be gone before her husband gets home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm NOT abandoning this story, and you have my apologies any time it seemed like I was (I'm a Sherlock fangirl- I know hiatuses are scary.)  
> however, I will be without internet access until mid-August (unless I can find and get to a place with Wi-Fi before then. in which case I will add a few more posts to this fence I seem to be building.)  
> you guys have been amazing, and I'm glad you stuck with me. you have my word that I will be back and see this story to the end.


	8. Talking to the Shadows, One o'Clock to Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The distance between them is filling up with more than unspoken words. Secrets... distrust... bulletproof glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Black Coffee by Ella Fitzgerald. go give it a listen; it's highly apropos for the scene.

After limping back up the incline of the ravine- minus a boot and plus several cuts and bruises- Matt had retreated to Craig’s place (rather than the office or Arthur’s flat) mostly due to the outrageous security the man had in there. A family man who happens to be a massive geek and savvy with a soldering iron is a force to be reckoned with, and Matt decided the company would provide a distraction. Of course the downside to this plan is that he and Darvill (who brought over some beers and a small arsenal to complement Craig’s cache of deadly weapons) have had to listen to Craig babbling away while he walks the baby up and down the living room. He’s a pal, and a genuinely nice guy, but Matt is about to clock him with the teakettle- if only to make him shut up for more than 10 seconds at a time.

Matt is on his third beer, Craig is on his ninetieth lap, and Arthur is at the end of his rope, about to fashion it into a garrote if the murderous glint in his eye is any indicator- not that Craig has noticed.

“Your _wife_ , mate- I still can’t believe… your _wife_!”

Matt winces around a sip of beer at the shrill repetition. “Yes, Craig- as we’ve established, my wife is apparently one of the best actresses in the known universe because I had no idea she was in the same line of work as us,” he reiterates, exhausted.

“And she-”

Arthur cuts him off to finish the thought in a wry tone. “Tried to kill him. More than once. Got it, mate.”

Craig makes a turn at the couch and starts another circuit. “I just can’t _believe_ it.” With his back turned, he misses the look Matt telegraphs to Arthur with his non-existent eyebrows, as well as Arthur’s rather violent pantomimed response. They both break off when he leaves on a new train of thought, rapidly picking up speed towards an uncomfortable destination.

“She’s _supposed_ to get close to targets. It’s part of the job, man: gaining trust, getting close… _staying_ close. Like you- well maybe not _you_ ; you’ve always been the faithful sort. Couldn’t ever do more than the odd dance and snog with an asset. But she’s been in the game a lot longer than you, old bean. If you’ve been around the block, she’s crisscrossed the whole of Whitechapel. And then there’s her. Be insane not to use her beauty to advantage. That laugh and that hair and those eyes and… curves and things.”

The tips of his ears go pink as he realizes what he’s saying… to the spouse of the lady-in-question. Craig has never had eyes for anyone but his darling wife, so it speaks to the power of Alex’s allure that he had noticed in the first place. He clears his throat and resumes the rambling amble.

“It’s just there are girls you shag and girls you snog and girls you marry, and Alex? No matter what category you think she’s in, she’s already the sort you want to lay your world at her feet. Informants, and government scientists, Saudi princes on yachts… with all that water around. They’d probably do anything… and maybe she’s _supposed_ to do anything to make  them do… anything.”

Matt and Arthur share a glance that reveals the nausea of impending doom is mutual. Their sofa cushion of a coworker remains oblivious to the oncoming storm brewing in his living room.

“…don’t even know how much if it was _real_. Can’t imagine what that’s like. You have to question everything now…” He whips around with a wide-eyed gasp. “Who knows- maybe the last two years have been a lie. You’d make great cover. Maybe her crew dissected you over coffee. Think you were ever the water cooler joke?”

“Craig- **_shut up!_** ” Arthur and Matt shout together from the sofa.

Appropriately chastised, Craig starts off again, much softer this time. “Sorry. All I’m saying is there have been times _I’ve_ thought about pulling up stakes and running.”

They look at him, incredulous.

“Okay there haven’t – I don’t want to go anywhere and I’d be _devastated_ if Sophie left me - but I know most people do. At some point. And the deal is you’ve got cause. She’s probably played you like a puppet. But now you know, and you can… you know… take her out.”

There’s something ridiculous about Craig (the squashy and sweet Mr. Sofa himself) suggesting harm on anyone, especially a woman he admires as much as Alex. And the look on his face- like he’s seeing a little flashcard that says _Take that lying bitch down_ in his mind and is disturbed by the image- has Matt and Arthur on the floor in a puddle of laughter.

It fades after a while, and the feeling he wants to try and drown with the contents of a bottle is starting to come back, but he does feel a bit better. It’s a start at least. _Feel better, then feel nothing. Then I’ll take her out and my life can get back on track_ , he thinks miserably. _Right._ He can talk a lot of people into a lot of things but there is no way he can persuade himself to believe that.

* * *

 

“Matt was the shooter? No way.”

Alex looks up from the Kurv chair she’s sprawled in, and winces a yes through the tequila shot. It owes as much to the pain in her heart and the volume of Kaz’s incredulity as it does the burn of the alcohol. They’d started on Scotch- Kaz deemed it apropos- before draining that to crack open the rum. Now they were completing their Boozes of the World tour south of the border.

“Right. Well this makes things interesting. But at least we know what we’re doing now. You’ll find him, you’ll kill him. No one is better at that than you are.”

In spite of herself and the roiling in her stomach, Alex smiles at the compliment.

Kaz’s tone is deceptively neutral as she examines her Electric Margarita polish. “And the good news is you don’t love him.” She’s got that face on of nonchalant fascination- like she knows what she’s saying is important but doesn’t want to influence the response.

Her eyes flick up to Alex, who drops hers back down to the bottle. “Right?”

Alex’s hand falters as she pours a final shot, a bit of liquid sloshing over the glass. “Right,” she whispers back.

“Oh, honey.” She hates that Kaz can see it, but she’s in no shape to shore up her shattered defenses. At least with Kaz, she knows it’s sort of safe to have her guard down. But rather than say anything else- despite the fact Alex can practically _hear_ the gears turning in that ginger head- Kaz just wraps her arms around Alex and holds her tight.

She doesn’t comment when the tears start, she doesn’t comment when they dry up with sniffles.

She holds Alex’s hair when the combination of blended alcohols and mixed emotions turns volatile and comes back up. Then she makes her gargle and settles her to bed with a glass of water and some paracetamol. Resting her forehead against Alex’s a moment, she vows, “We’ll deal with it. Together. Okay?”

Alex nods weakly, already drifting off. Kaz tucks her in and carries off the dead soldiers to the recycling chute, silently swearing that if Alex can’t take care of business, she’ll gladly step up to squash that man on her behalf.

“And then, it’ll be over.” With a last look to her sleeping friend, she checks the security alarms and slips out into the night.

A few hours later, Alex wakes, feeling miserable in so many ways, and unable to send herself back to oblivion. So she stares out the bulletproof, impact-resistant window and ignores the tears that roll down her cheeks. She tries not to think of Matt. She tries not to feel anything. She doesn’t know that for the next two hours, they both try to convince themselves it was never love.

On Craig’s squashy couch, Matt wakes after a few fitful hours. He’s exhausted, he knows he needs to focus, and he needs sleep to be at the top of his game. But at least for a little while, he lets his mind wander over Alex and the life (lie?) they’ve shared.

How much was true? How much was a job? Were the kisses part of the ruse? Was breakfast in bed, tickets to football matches, the visits to his parents… was it all just to get close and keep closer? He doesn’t want to believe it. He felt something in those moments, when he looked in her eyes or caught her peeking at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. When they’d made love and she’d fallen asleep in his arms- the image of loving trust.

They’re good at lying. If they have to, they can make anyone believe anything- it’s part of the job- but they stare at each other across the miles, a slumbering city between and admit in the stillness that it’s a lie they can’t sell themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaa-ack! you guys have been amazing and patient, so I'm back with a reward- a new chapter for my wonderful readers. there's another on the way soon, and it'll follow in quick order from now on.  
> thanks again guys! *hugs you all*


	9. I scratched the surface of the lie and found the truth hiding beneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex tears her world apart and finds what lies beneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Veneer, a poem of mine.

That morning, fueled by heartache and caffeine, Alex issues a tactical firestorm on her soon to be ex. She wants the works: video surveillance, audio monitoring, database searches.

“Scuse me, Alex... but what exactly are we looking for?” Billie immediately regrets opening her mouth when Alex pins her with that emerald blaze.

“Anything you can find.”

Donna looks up from an incomprehensible printout to point out the obvious problem. “On Matt Smith? The only other alias we can tie to him is John Smith and… well… the database can only narrow so far.”

“You’re the best there is.” Alex narrows her eyes, daring the computer- and her team- to let her down. “Do what you can. Then do more.”

* * *

A few hours later, Kaz, Jenna and a few other members of the team help Alex go through the house. They find knives in blueprint cases and guns in his sock drawer- the weapons incredibly out of place amidst paisley, elephants and rainbow stripes. A small arsenal is concealed in a toy Dalek Alex won for him in an online auction.

His study smells like him, and she wavers a minute as a wave of longing washes over her. Kaz taps her arm as she passes, telegraphing a check with her eyes. Alex shakes her head, fine and cold once more.

Then Billie accidentally tears a sketch Matt had done of her while checking the frame and Alex needs a moment to recover.

As the girls continue to rip through her home, Alex flees to the garage- Matt’s out of house sanctuary. The air is a little cold, and as she hugs herself against a shiver her eye falls on a thermostat on one wall. She’s never really paid attention to it before. Tapping the pad doesn’t affect the temperature, and Alex puzzles over it a minute. _Could it be…?_

Running through possibles, she tries their address, not really expecting it to be right. The code is 6 characters- a date, then. She starts to enter their anniversary, then stops. The idea of their wedding date being the key physically hurts her. _Was it really only a few weeks away?_

She allows a flash of his face- lit up over her carefully chosen present- to play in her head. It _was_ a rather good gift… for a good man… in a fake marriage… to a bad, bad woman.

A drop of moisture on her arm jerks her to the present. It hadn’t been real. His stupid face over her stupid gift for their stupid anniversary didn’t matter. Sniffing a bit, she dashes the tears from her cheeks and straightens her spine.

She enters his birthday instead and a muted _hiss_ fills the space as the workbench slides to touch the wall and reveal a small flight of stairs. Her Chuck Taylors are noiseless as she descends the diamond plate steps, blinking against the buzzing green light. Then she sees it.

A Lexan case of maps and charts. 3 racks of grenades. Every handheld gun imaginable. Several shotguns, compound and crossbows, hunting arrows, assault and suppression rifles, an RPG, canister launchers for smoke bombs and flash-bangs…

At war with the knot in the pit of her stomach at the “I obviously have no idea who I married” is the sudden hit of arousal she feels at the thought of Matt wielding these weapons. He’s sweet and funny and clumsy and darling, and yes young, but eager and loving, and she loves him. He doesn’t really seem to like violence- he can’t even stand most action movies- but now she wonders how much of that is part of his cover and how much is really… Matt.

She pictures him lying in wait for a target and almost knocking something over, or maybe being really polite in interrogation. She imagines these weapons in those long-fingered hands of his, masculine yet delicate. For a moment, she imagines fighting by his side, or literally back to back, covering each other’s sixes and taking on the universe.

Then the image shifts and she sees them staring down the barrels of each other’s weapons, those expressive hazel eyes turning cold, hardened amber as he gets her in his sights. She shivers again. This doesn’t seem so great anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short but still- two in such rapid succession? I know; I'm spoiling you. there's another on the way- mostly Matt- but I'm gonna wait a few days. still picking appropriate musical inspiration.  
> (speaking of, was going to use a lyric from "This isn't love anymore" by ZoeGirl - 'I walk away but I wait for you' - but didn't; song is still worth a listen though.)


	10. I'm gonna lose ya, I'm gonna give you the slip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I thought I told you never to bother me at the office..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from... come on. do I really have to say?

All of Matt’s training screams at him as he crosses the marble lobby. The entire ride up in the lift is spent telling himself to get out, break into an air duct, grab a tactical assault team and come in swinging. But he can’t.

It’s still Alex (at least he hopes it is) so he shows up unannounced and tries to get straight to her. He should’ve known better.

By the time he reaches the ‘offices’, her team has detonated most of what was in their floors and snagged a helo on the roof. His heart nearly stops when he catches up to her, standing hands up in the blown out windowframe, wind teasing her loose curls. The length of her toned legs is encased in tights, peeking in the inches between her laced up boots and a short sleeveless green dress, cinched in at her waist with a wide belt of chocolate leather. He feels his throat and trousers involuntarily tighten at the sight.

She turns to face him slowly, then smiles and falls backwards.

A strangled “NO!” tears from his throat as he runs to the space she’d just occupied- just in time to see her fly by. She’s hooked to a micro cable, climbing as she’s hauled up by her team into the helo.

He points an accusatory finger and yells at her, knowing his words are lost in the whir of the rotors. “There’s not always going to be someone to catch you when you feel like leaping off a building!”

But even with the rapidly growing distance, he swears he can see the taunt that lies in the green of her eyes. _Oh you are so wrong…_

* * *

Unsurprisingly his architecture cover comes in handy finding their new hiding spot. He just finds the scrap of information he needs and backtracks it to the new penthouse offices Kovarian Enterprises had leased through a shell corporation.

Knowing it’s a bad move even as he does it, he dials her mobile number, wondering idly between rings if she’ll put him on speaker. She doesn’t disappoint; he can hear the muffled noises of her team in the background.

“I thought I told you never to bother me at the office, _sweetie_.”

“Well, you are still Mrs. Smith.”

“So are a lot of girls,” she snarks back.

“You were always my one and only.” The sincerity in his voice gives her pause. She shakes it off.

The biting sarcasm tastes bitter on her tongue. “Too bad.” They’re scanning the building, floor by floor. He seems like he should be in the airducts or something.

If he infers anything from her words, he doesn’t indicate it in his warning to leave. She scoffs at the suggestion she just turn tail and run. “You expect me to just roll over and play dead?”

“I know you better than that. You never just lie there and take it.”

 _Stop it,_ her mind screams, but she isn’t sure which of them the order is meant for, so she forces it down and keeps her voice steady. “Seemed only fair to give as good as I got. Or better, in our case.” She can picture that little tick in his cheek as his jaw clenches, that floppy fringe flying as he shakes his head against whatever thought is fighting to get out.

All of a sudden, she can see it on screen as the security feed of the lift car he’s in comes up on the monitor. She fights back a sigh. High resolution is not her friend today.

“I tried to get you to take me seriously.” She can see the pulse beating in his throat, the exact shade of his eyes as he glances at the fisheye. “But you always liked to underestimate me.”

“Oh, did I?” Her tone is cotton candy and razorblades- sweet and fluffy but with an edge.

“Yeah. My age, my clumsiness, the way I look- whatever you could use against me. I already laid at your feet; what more did I have to do to prove it?”

She crosses her arms under her chest and arches a brow, even though she knows he can’t see her. “The fact that you don’t know the answer to that just proves that I was the smarter one.”

He shrugs, knowing she can see the gesture. “Not denying it. You’ve got me in a box some 50 stories off the ground. But don’t think you're cleverer than me; never ever think that. You have no idea what I’m capable of. “

“Well back atcha, honey.”

“Hmp,” he smirks. “Let me guess. Shaped charge on the counterbalance cable. Two more, primary and secondary brakes?”

A stage whisper erupts to her right. “He found them!”

“Yes _thank you_ Billie- we’d caught that.” Turning her attention back to the screen, she looks at Matt, staring back at her like he knows where to look. “Did you also get the base charge at the principal cable?” She sees the gulp; that Adam’s apple is hard to miss, even without HD. And he’s looking around nervously. She smiles around her next statement. “Promise to leave town, or I’ll blow it.”

“Okay. I give up.” Her victory dies a short death with his next words. “Blow it.”

She blinks. There’s no way she heard that right. “What?”

“You heard me. Go ahead and blow it.”

“You think I won’t do it?”

“Oh babe, I don’t think—I know you won’t. At least I think I know you won’t.”

She squares her shoulders, hands planting on her hips. “Fine then. 5,4,3- any last words?”

“I always hated peas.”

“2,1-”

“Except when you-”

“Goodb-” Her comment is cut short by the screen blacking out and a rumble rocking the building. Her jaw drops and she turns to the side. Billie sits calmly, her finger on a command key, oblivious to the stares and glares the rest of the team is sending her. Until Alex makes a little noise of shocked protest and she turns to face her boss.

“What?” Billie asks off her expression. “You said goodbye.”

Donna and Kaz punch her in the arm.

* * *

The air in the shaft is thick with smoke and dust. A car had plummeted to the ground floor… next to its twin which still hangs suspended in midair, and at the moment contains a very mad man.

Matt is sitting, still but clearly puzzled as Rodin’s Thinker. She actually did it. _She actually did it?!_ To be fair, to present her with the benefit of the doubt, someone else might have done it. But she’d threatened to.

He’s puzzling over it as he disconnects the signal re-router and wireless feeder cam from the top of the car and carefully packs them back up.

Unbelievable. Women- can’t live with them… can’t bury them in the yard in case the neighbors are watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say I'm spoiling you but really, it's just a distraction.  
> this was going to be a split up chapter, then I just decided to post it as one. hope you like it. up next: confrontation. (let the spaghetti western music begin. I suggest this: watch?v=AFa1-kciCb4)


	11. Is killing you going to take all day?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "is killing you going to take all day?"

Alex sits staring down at the city, unblinking as the lights blur into a shimmering haze. She loves this place. She hates this place. It had taken an extra 50 pound note pressed into the maître d’s hand to get this table, on top of the sizable bribe she’d produced to get in without a reservation.

The masochism of the gesture would probably hurt more if she could let herself think about it.

She’s sipping at her second glass of a very nice Merlot, wondering if the gnawing burn in the pit of her stomach would let her keep anything down. She doubts it. She’s not hungry anyway.

Alex lets her eyes drift closed a moment, feeling a single teardrop slide over the curve of her cheek. Brushing it off with her fingertip, she swipes the dampened digit across her lips- a twisted goodbye kiss. She really will miss that man.

Registering a flash of movement in the room’s reflection, Alex feels a brush against the back of her shoulder as a figure moves to the unoccupied chair opposite her. Her lips are already parting to politely tell him off- but the words die on her tongue as her husband slides into the seat.

The grief - and other emotions she refuses to identify - burns in a flash, and a new string of words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

“Is killing you going to take all day?”

“Why?” he asks in an almost playful tone, quirking one of those nonexistent brows at her. “Got somewhere to be?”

“Right now? No,” she bites back.

“Then don’t fret about it. You’ll get another chance.”

Her hands plant on the table as she leans in. “Ohh, honey, I’m not complaining.” Pushing back into her seat, she swipes her wineglass and downs the contents in one go.

“It’s strange, though,” he says, reaching for the bottle to refill it for her- _ever the gentleman._ “I’d have expected champagne.”

As he pours a perfect measure and sets the bottle aside, his eyes never leave hers. She raises the charged glass to her lips. “Champagne is for celebrating. Merlot is for… everything else,” she murmurs against the rim.

His mouth quirks a bit, and his eyes rove over the half of her visible over the table. “I like that dress. Black suits you.”

The glare she shoots him is still venomously flirtatious. “Well I am in mourning, honey.”

“I know. I think you should wear it more often.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I was trying to think of something clever to say.”

“Well, you and clever.”

He acknowledges with a nod. “True.”

“So what did you finally settle on?”

“I want a divorce.”

She hides the fact that it hits her like a physical blow with a determined tilt-up of her chin. “I like it. You proposed to me here so it’s… agreeably symmetrical.”

His voice and face grow tight with three small words. “It’s hard though. “

“Not really. The courts make things much simpler these days, especially for widows.”

The look in his eyes pleads with her not to be flip. “You know what I mean.”

“No,” she lies. “I really don’t think I do.”

“That’s just it. The day I said I do, I meant it.”

“Well, I did too,” she insists a little hotly.

“Perhaps,” he allows as he rolls a shoulder. “But I think I meant it… a little differently than you did.” His smile is heartbreaking. “For me, that wedding was like every Disney movie I grew up watching because of Laura. Falling in love with you was like a fairy tale. Being _married_ to you? It was like the universe was handing me a happy ending.”

Her mouth is a hard line, her tone like dark chocolate: bitter with a hint of an edge. “Happy endings are just stories that haven’t finished yet. And that’s all we are in the end, just stories.”

She’s amazed the wine glass doesn’t shatter in her hand with as tight as her grip has become. His eyes flick to her whitened knuckles and she knows he notices. “Well we tried to make it a good one, didn’t we?” Before she can answer, he stands and steps to her side, offering her a hand. “Shall we?” He says, nodding to the dance floor.

Alex eyes him incredulously. “You can’t dance. And you _know_ I don’t.”

He relieves her of her wineglass and yanks her out of the chair by her wrist. She collides with his chest in time for feel it rumble with his low response. “You never dance at weddings. This… is something else.”

A shiver is halfway down her spine when he swirls her onto the dance floor, moving her smoothly to the beat and holding her just a little too tight. She tries to ignore the play of his fingertips over the swath of skin between her shoulder blades, silently cursing her decision to wear a halter dress. She fights the urge to fidget in his arms, noticing after a quarter turn around the floor that he actually knows what he’s doing. “When did you learn this?”

“I’ve always known.”

A little scoff escapes her. “What else was a lie?”

He shrugs negligently. “I couldn’t begin to say. But I’d hate not to dance with you at least one last time.”

Rather than picking up the obvious opening, she asks, “Why all this?”

“Well, my dear- we have a problem. You obviously want me dead… and I’m becoming less and less concerned for _your_ well-being. So the question remains: what do we do now? Shoot it out here? Hope for the best?” His breath stirs her hair with every question and she closes her eyes against the sensation, reaching instead for her handiest weapon: sarcasm.

“Well I’m pretty sure they’d ask me to leave once you were dead, and I am such a fan of the soufflés here.”

Matt holds her closer, moving her to the beat and some deeper rhythm. He dips her back and eases his hand down her skirt and up the outside of her thigh, exposing the holster of stiletto pins there. She shivers and forces her mind to focus on situation rather than sensation. Damn those long fingers though, as all three pins are pulled out and tossed to embed themselves in the chair rail. It’s not as clean a stick as she’d have managed, Alex notes from her upside-down vantage, but it’s admirable nonetheless.

When she straightens, she gets the mag out of the pistol in his coat pocket before he can breathe. One smooth brush of her heel to the music and it’s flying across the dance floor, landing benignly in a darkened corner.

“So… why do you think we’ve failed? Was it the fact that we were starting to lead separate lives or was it all the lying that eventually did us in?”

His eyes have shifted- the soft green of new grass to the cold glitter of a smoky topaz. “Arthur thinks _you_ killed us. I’m not so sure.”

She shrugs, one silky roll of a shoulder masking her hurt at the suggestion. “Provocative theory nonetheless. Why don’t you believe it?”

“Because it’s only true if you approached our marriage like a job- something to be reconned, planned and executed.” He spins her out, doing a grand roulet back into his waiting arms before continuing. “Personally, I hoped you felt like I did- that it was built on love and trust. It’s a web of lies to be sure, but what lies beneath was real. It has to have been.”

She looks at him carefully. “Why?”

“Because it was for me.”

 _He can’t mean that._ Alex can’t allow herself to think what it means if he’s being sincere. She bites out her response. “Well what do you care, if I was just a cover?”

“ _Arthur_ said we were just a cover,” he clarifies through clenched teeth, “but like I said, I don’t quite believe it. I don’t want to be cold; I don’t want to have to remind my heart not to love you.” Oh, gods. That look in his eyes might just be the death of her.

She pulls out of his arms, stock still on the dance floor a moment, just long enough to see the glint of tears in her eyes. Then she’s gone, a murmured excuse as she flees to the ladies’ room- despite his hasty reminder there are no exits there. He waits, watching.

Then all of a sudden a scream: “She jumped out the window!” He smiles and shakes his head, before heading down to the garage. Time to see if he can beat her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would recommend listening to the "Assassin's Tango" from the original Mr and Mrs Smith soundtrack. I was while I wrote this.


	12. Make him hate my memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the voice on the other end of the line...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "Tell Him Anything" from The Slipper and the Rose. go give it a listen.

Alex is racing along the A3 when her mobile rings. She hesitates only a second before punching the ‘speaker’ function that lets her talk using the car’s sound system. "What?"

"The first time we met, what was your first thought?”

 _Oh no._ She’s not playing this way. "Yours first."

A moment of silence precede his answer. "You were shiny and laughing and sun-kissed even in the gloom, and there were little drops of rain in your curls like jewels. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen." _Still do,_ he admits to himself. "What about you?"

"I thought your chin was ridiculous." He lets out a short bark of laughter that almost masks the pain she knows she’s just caused.

“Was that all?”

She doesn’t want to say it but the thought slips past her lips unbidden. “I loved the way your hands fit mine. We were walking along the waterfront towards the village- I didn’t realize yet the sirens weren’t for me- and you took my hand and we ran together. And I couldn’t believe the way they fit. They shouldn’t- yours are so long, mine are so tiny- but they did. They always have, from that first time. That’s what I thought.”

The memory flashes before her eyes- until it disappears in the glare of oncoming headlights. She jerks the wheel, dragged back into the present. She takes a deep breath, her thumb hovering over the button to disconnect the call. “And then you asked me what I did for a living, and I thought you were the most gullible little boy I’d ever met.”

He sighs. The sound fills the car, like he’s there with her, and she misses him like a limb, lets herself wish for the sparest of seconds. “Alex-” But she punches the disconnect button, unwilling to hear anything more. She can’t afford the distraction. She needs focus for what’s coming. This is no mere squabble, no domestic to be patched up with flowers and apologies.

This? This is where they live up to their vow: ‘til death do us part’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait. I was in Montana visiting family. back now.   
> up next- Matt and Alex burn the house down.


	13. And the tasteless fights that filled our nights are starting to cave in...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's fight time. time where they live up to 'til death do us part.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Secondhand Serenade "I hate this song (because it was written for you)." depressing as hell and only partially accurate but I liked it and that lyric spoke to me.

Alex gets home first, throwing the car into park and dashing through the backdoor. She bolts the door behind her, immediately sliding out of her wine-tinted Louboutins and into a pair of lemon yellow Crocs she wears to garden. He’d always teased her about the ‘hideous footwear’ but they barely make a sound and they’re almost as comfy as the dinosaur slippers she nicks from him on long weekends.

Within minutes the house is secured and she’s armed to the teeth. She hears the SUV pull into the drive. She hears quiet footfalls padding across the damp side lawn. And she definitely doesn’t miss the shattering of an upstairs windowpane- _master bath, if I’m not mistaken._

The trellis had taken a bite out of his coat, and a hank of shirtsleeve is hanging miserably in the jagged jaws of the broken window- but better linen than skin. As he wends his way through the master suite, he can tell she’s ripped the place apart- there are too many things amiss. Still, he finds a few spare mags taped under the bathroom sink, and by some miracle, she’s overlooked an AR-47 and three full clips behind a false floorboard. A pair of 1911s with long barrel suppressers are where he’d left them behind a wall vent in the hall. Chambering a round in each pistol, he slings the assault rifle over his shoulder and creeps along the wall.

He’s just cleared the second landing when he nudges the small display table where Alex keeps an antique tea service. Everything on it is gleaming silver- except the delicate china cup now hurtling towards the stairs. He manages to use a footie move to catch it, bobbling it on the sides of his foot while he juggles the guns to one hand. Giving the final pop a bit more oomph than necessary, the handle chips off just as he catches the rest of the cup in his palm. The clink clink clink of the china vine as it bounces down the stairs makes him wince just as the wall explodes near his shoulder. Tucking into a ball, he follows the fragment down to the ground level and unfurls in a crouch, guns covering opposing angles as he tries to see around the doorframe.

“Hi honey- I’m home!” He calls out in a mockingly playful tone. She responds with a hail of gunfire that outlines his pistol in pockmarks. _Well now she’s just showing off._

He gets his feet under him again and scarpers backwards, sidling through the side entrance to the dining room. The soft squeak of a rubber sole betrays her position and Matt sprays a section of wall with the machine gun, missing Alex by fractions of an inch. Alex’s voice rises through the drywall dust, slightly taunting. “Your aim’s as bad as your cooking, sweetie. And that’s saying something.”

An honest-to-goodness growl escapes through clenched teeth before he swings into the kitchen. The gleaming chrome of the fridge betrays the flash of movement behind him. He rolls and yanks the door open for cover just as a hail of bullets and a pump of shot tear apart the contents of the cooler. Fruit juice, mustard and other unidentifiable substances fly past his shoulder like wet shrapnel, and some sort of vinegar splashes into a cut on his arm with an unholy burn.

A lull in the firing lets him slide behind the prep island and angle a shot towards the door. A muted hiss causes a twinge of regret that he at least grazed his target. Giving himself a shake, he cast an eye about the room, landing on the stove. It would take a minute being in the open, but he could force it away from the wall, crack the gasline, wait for a spark…

He’s mentally calculating the damage of the resulting explosion should Alex fire when a mini-RPG makes up his mind for him by plowing down through the top of the range. Time slows enough for him to drag in a shocky breath before he scrambles to get his feet mostly under him and springs for the breezeway like a leapfrog.

The fireball is literally hot on his heels but he’s up and running in an instant, despite the shrill ringing in his ears. He’s at the link to the front sitting room when he realizes his hands are empty. _God. Damn. It._

He has one gun with a loaded mag left. Even switching to single fire, it’s not going to last long. About to shrug and call out his position, Matt happens to glance sidelong and does a double-take when he spots a flash of black in the glimmering light. Moving in a low crouch, he slides a palm over the cool metal of her gun- a semi-auto beauty with an underbarrel mini-RPG launcher.

 _Is it a trap?_ His ears perk up but he doesn’t hear a telltale click of a trigger. _Did it jam, or fail, maybe go empty?_ A quick checkout proves it’s in working order with a full clip to boot. _Huh._ Most likely blown off her back by the blast, then. _Oh well,_ he thinks, shouldering the weapon like a major leaguer striding to the plate, _mine now._

He manages three steps towards the doorway before she twists into the room. Aim is taken more out of habit than hardened bloodlust, each flinching into textbook aggressive stance. They’re just over a yard apart, and he couldn’t know this, but it’s like her vision in his bunker- they stand staring down the barrels of the other’s weapons, ready to take the shot.

Her eyes can’t help but catch on his wrists, corded with muscle that flexes as he fidgets, and the fact that he’s favoring his left side. He gets distracted by the faint line of blood leaking from the graze on her bicep, the whisper of vanilla and white jasmine through smoke and dust, the lean sculpture of her arms as they extend back from his appropriated 1911s. They are softness and strength, planes and angles and curves- and at the moment, finished with deadly accessories.

It should be easy- it’s what they do. But it has never been the other; they’ve never known before, never had reason to care. And it occurs to them both, at the same instant, that they are good enough to miss. Collateral damage to each other aside, they’ve managed to NOT kill one another, when any other target would be dead.

She can’t do it. And neither can he. The anguish writ on both their faces is too much; the guns have barely hit the floor before they are in each other’s arms.

They make short work of any intact remaining clothes and make love again and again- first blistering and hard, then tender and gentle and heart-achingly slow. After a brief rest (closer to coma than kip) they get some water and snuggle up in a nest constructed out of semi-shredded cushions and a duvet.

A few hours later, Matt pulls on his undershirt and dashes upstairs for fresh unshredded boxers. Alex has retrieved her knickers from the chandelier and is wearing one of Matt's clean dress shirts. They cobble a breakfast together out of anything remotely intact in what’s left of the kitchen, settling on the windowseat cushion to eat. Matt gets a dribble of milk on his chin spooning cereal out of a travel mug, and Alex feels that familiar twist at how young he really is. She wipes it tenderly with the pad of her thumb- which he catches and gently licks clean before returning it to her, sending an entirely different familiar sensation coursing through her.

“You didn’t hear the helicopter dropping me off for our 6 month?”

Alex considers this a moment, an adorable wrinkle of concentration appearing in her brow. “No… Oh wait. Percussion grenades. Lower quadrant. I was partially deaf that night. You couldn’t tell?”

“Well **_I_** spent half the night whispering in your ear and **_you_** spent it screaming at your usual level. So I can safely say I noticed nothing amiss.”

Once they recover from the fit of giggles, they continue comparing injuries: “Three ribs.”

“Zygomatic fracture.”

He smirks. “I told you- you watch too many of those medical procedurals." He trails the back of a knuckle tenderly over the curve of her cheek. "Why can’t you just stick to kitschy sci-fi and call it a broken eye socket like normal people?”

She slides down to lay on her back, her legs draped intimately across his lap. “I could, but where’s the fun in that?”

He concedes the point and continues his catalog. “I’m partially colorblind in one eye. Retinal scarring.”

“Oh is _that_ supposed to explain your wardrobe choices?”

He pins her ankles under a forearm and gets a few tickles in to her arches before she wriggles and lands a stinging blow with her heel. “Yeesh, Kingston! I give already.”

She sucks a bit of jam off her pinkie before making a ring of her thumb and pointer and extending the rest of the digits on one hand. “Can’t feel anything in these three fingers.”

He takes her hand in his and presses gentle kisses to each tip in turn. “You seem to do alright for not feeling anything.”

She lets her eyes slide closed contentedly. “Well… maybe small sensations from time to time. One does one’s best to hide the damage, you know?” He doesn’t answer. An eye pops open to spot a pensive look on his face. “Sweetie?”

“You ever have trouble sleeping after?”

Thinking back to her beginnings, she shrugs against the floorboards. “I did at first. You?

“Nope. I mean it always seemed a little weird but it never really… _bothered_ me.”

“Did you ever get used to it?”

He nods, floppy fringe bobbing in confirmation. “Took me about 3 months. Maybe 9 or 10 kills. Like hitting double digits made it easier.” The grimace at that macabre oddity is just a flash- then he shakes it off and looks down at her. “But the times I slept the best?”

“Yeah?” Blessing her yoga, she uses her abdominals to ease up to his side.

“When I was next to you.” She blushes at that, her head tipping down. Then just as fast it snaps up. “What?” Her hand is on his mouth and her feet are under her in an instant. She grabs his hand and drags him down the hall. From the vantage point they spot shadows in the dim light outside. A team is in the backyard. Which means another is probably splitting off to flank the house.

“Ugh. They’re going to ruin my alliums.”

“Dear, can we focus right now?” Her reply is cut off as a hail of bullets comes through the wall. Matt grabs her hand and drags her to the cellar. He rips a concealment panel off the side of the toolbox and pulls out a few weapons while Alex finds some old trainers in the corner, tossing a pair at him to shield his feet. He’s just finished tightening the laces when a metal ball comes bouncing down the stairs like a demented child’s toy. They stare uncomprehending for a moment- until the flashing red number spur them to action. The resulting fireball chases them down a dusty corridor hidden behind a cabinet, and they emerge, a little breathless, in his secret slot under the garage.

Dragging her after while muttering under his breath about ‘the common courtesy of leaving a single damn weapon’, they pop out and take down a few straggling team members, relieving them of their weapons before heading to the car. They stop dead in their tracks at the sight of the smoldering pile that used to be their house. No _wonder_ the teams had all but disappeared; anyone not sheltered would’ve been obliterated or knocked into the neighbors’ hedges.

And the house Matt had built for her was gone. Less a home than it should have been, but it still had been theirs, and despite the danger, they take a moment of silence over the loss.

Alex mourns a favorite dress, the kitchen (which honestly she’d started accepting last night) and her memories of their first few weeks, christening every room in the place with abandon… until they’d stopped speaking and started letting walls build up between them. Matt stifles a tear over a few photo albums (even though he knows LJ made digital copies of _everything_ a few months back), his Blackburn Rovers jersey (Alex had gotten him one signed by the team for their 6 month, which resided in a protective case in his study), and the suit he’d worn at their wedding.

Then he feels Alex’s tiny hand in his, and he knows he still has the most important thing. They can rebuild, better and stronger than it used to be… and they can redo the house too.

“Darling, I hate to inject logic into a sentimental moment, but we are meant to be fleeing from the baddies right now,” Alex reminds him, slipping the keys from his grip.

“Oi! Just a moment, _sweetie_ \- happens to be my car. I’ll do the driving, ta very much.” The keys are suddenly dangling from his fingertips.

Struggling to keep her tone level, she counters, “But of the two of us, I’m the more experienced driver,” and lunges for the keyring once more.

He straightens his arm skyward, effectively holding them out of her reach. “Says the woman who gets _driven_ to work by a chauffeur on a daily basis. Now there’s no time for- what on earth’s that?!” He glances over her shoulder with a slight look of alarm, and by the time she’s looked over and back, he’s already in the driver’s seat.

She scrambles into shotgun, muttering ‘dirty pool’ under her breath and wondering if there’s room for her to just slide into his lap and steer while he works the pedals. With a sigh, she fastens her belt and taps him to do the same before they peel out of the drive.

A lone gunman stands in the middle of their street, weapon leveled at the rear windscreen. Matt shifts gears and slams the gas, clipping the assassin as he jumps to one side. Leaping out of the car, he grabs up the gun with a “ha!” and gleefully climbs back in. He hands Alex the weapon and clips his belt, commenting about how the little bastards just get younger every year while they start heading out.

“Yes, dear.” Alex holds back a smile at the irony of the statement. “So, can we at least listen to the radio instead of you serenading me with showtunes while you drive?” The sparkle in her eyes is a near unholy light of glee.

“You do ‘Singing in the Rain’ one time to keep calm on the M5 and you’re marked for bloody life,” Matt grumbles, and heads for the freeway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know, I'm terrible. I've had the worst time closing a gap in the narrative, and then deciding where to cut this. then I finally decided to just post what I had. up next is the car chase. promise it won't be as long a wait.


	14. All the drive with a whole lotta boom in the back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vroom vroom. Boom boom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys- it's the return of Mr and Mrs Smith! and the finalization of the bloody car chase scene that's had me stuck for ages. so Happy Christmas, you lot!  
> chapter title from Rihanna's "Shut Up and Drive" for obvious reasons.

The H5 is never exactly congested, but today is like something out of a film: long stretches of asphalt with only the odd vehicle or cluster of cars. _This will either be very good or very bad_.

Matt fiddles with the radio dial, switching stations every few seconds until Alex wants to scream. She fishes a crystal case out of a flipdown compartment and slides in a CD. The space fills with Radiohead, their fingers lace together and he instantly calms. Then Alex notices the dark spot behind them and with three little words, things start to tense.

“We’ve got company.” Matt flicks his eyes to the rearview just as the black SUV becomes three, a deadly arrowhead flying straight at them. Shifting gears in more ways than one, Matt flies down the carriageway, smoothly sliding around a few cars and directing Alex to weapons in the glovebox and spare clips under the seats. By the time the first shot pings off the rear windscreen, they’re armed and ready.

Alex puts down her window and eases out to sit on the frame. She steadies herself and tries for the tires of the lead car. It’s an awkward angle, so she switches to the engine block, then the front windscreen. Much like the reinforced rear screen in this vehicle, her bullets shear off to no effect but her annoyance. Biting back a sigh, she slides back into regroup- and remove herself as an open target.

Matt risks a glance at her as she crawls back inside, stifling a chuckle at her windblown curls. “You know what that does to your hair?”

“According to you, it always looks like this,” Alex retorts with an affectionate roll of her eyes. A renewed hail of bullets cut off any reply he might have, but the SUVs aren’t breaking formation to box them in. Yet.

The next vehicle they’re coming up fast on happens to be a trailer truck, and the couple exchanges a look as the same thought passes through their minds. Matt slams the gas and draws up alongside the truck, maintaining speed while Alex draws a bead on a release lever near the bumper. _3, 2, 1…_

The lever snaps down and the trailer spills its load over the road. The SUVs on their tail fall back with a squeal of brakes and a bit of fishtailing as they hit the debris.

With a whoop of delight, Matt roars up and over a hill and in no time, there’s nothing but bucolic scenery and empty road. He’s nearly done with a sigh of relief when Alex speaks up.

“I was married before.”

Matt doesn’t even bother with a sideways glance. “Yeah I know. The German. I told you, I don’t mind.”

“No,” she hedges lightly, tracing along the barrel of her pistol with a fingernail. “I was… married _before_ the time I was married before.”

He slams on the brakes. The side of her ribs collides with the dash as the car screeches to a halt.

“Yowch! What in the- Killers? Guns? Any of this ringing a bell? What’s the matter with you?!”

“Right now, love, you. YOU are very much what’s wrong with me.” He sits fuming a few seconds, eyes flicking up to the rearview as the SUVs appear again over the crest of the hill. _Damn, that was fast._ He shifts into gear and presses the gas; the car roars into life and speeds back down the H5. “What’s his name and ident number?”

She crawls out of the seat and kneels in the space between for a moment, laying a hand on his arm. “No, you’re not going to kill him.” With a little pat she heads to the bench seats and folds the middle one down to create a work space behind the barricade of the rear seat. “But it’s sweet that you want to try,” she purrs as the first SUV breaks formation and comes into range.

A flash in the sideview is the only warning before the rear windscreen explodes inward, sending little balls of tempered glass across the interior. They’ve clearly switched ammo if it’s now breaking through the reinforced material. Alex tries to aim and return fire, but Matt’s evasive maneuvering has her crashing and rolling around the car like a pinball. “You have to keep it steady, honey!” she implores in a quiet shout, trying to be audible over the rush of wind coming in through the shattered window.

“I’m trying! Just get a shot off, if you don’t mind!” Matt hollers from the driver’s seat. Four shots later, he hears a rumbling crunch and the ground vibrates beneath his racing wheels. One SUV is now a burning wreck in the median ditch, and Alex is unwinding a seatbelt from her forearm. She throws Matt a smirk over her shoulder as if to say _“Nope, didn’t mind at all”_ and turns back to the remaining chasers.

Unfortunately, taking out the lead vehicle had been as much luck as skill, and the SUVs drawing such tight ranks are covering the vulnerable spot. Still she tries through three more clips, taking aim to make them swerve or shift, and listens to Matt’s alternating encouragement and frustration.

Right now he’s frustrated. “Anytime, _sweetie!_ ”

The deep breath she draws in to keep calm exits in a growling sigh. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t!” he tosses back assuredly, before he yanks the steering wheel to start a tight spin. Alex rolls across the bench seat with a yell as he shoots off an RPG from a modified one-handed launcher. It’s a testament to the fact that he’s stronger than he looks that the kickback doesn’t fracture his wrist, but at least he hits his target. The tires of the SUVs squeal as one veers into the other with a deafening crunch of metal and a nostril-stinging stench of seared asphalt.

Alex sits up after the car comes out of the spin, mouth going slack at the sight of the carnage out the rear window. Her head swivels to the front, where Matt is rolling his shoulder until he catches her wide eyes in the mirror. Aggravation and bruised ego war with grudging pride in her husband as she clambers back up to her seat.

“Okay, well, _now_ you might,” he admits a bit sheepishly.

Alex punches the radio button and the car plunges into silence as they drive off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so admittedly, two months is a bit of wait, and longer than I've left you before. for that I apologize. in this case, it was more writer's block than demands on my time, although they didn't help either. but in the spirit of Christmas, please accept this peace offering.


	15. I get by with a little help from my friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when the chips are down, you find out who your friends really are. and if the chips have salt and vinegar... more's the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter! but then I said I'd get you another one before the year was over.  
> chapter title came about because it was time for some lads from Liverpool.

They make it to a library just as it opens, ignoring the looks they get from wearing only boxers, button-downs and trainers. Alex does strange and wonderful things with wires in a study room and patches them into a secure contact stream. Matt tries messaging his team and ponders sending out feelers for local help. After considering Kaz for three solid minutes, Alex instead taps Jenna with a coded communique. The few responses they get back are... less than encouraging.

Despite the benefit of being together, they are - for all intents and purposes - on their own. _Oh well. At least we still have each other._

After a brief shopping trip with some of the emergency cash under the floorboards, Alex emerges feeling much more herself. A comfy denim jacket, crisp tailored white top and broken-in jeans hug her like a second skin- and have the added benefit of drawing Matt's eye to her ass... a lot. Matt marries function and fashion in dark wash jeans and an Arctic Fire tee, picking up some more 'tactical' wear for them both for later: shoulder wrap and hip & thigh holsters, reinforced black long-sleeve tops, Kevlar skins, black steel-toe boots, and trousers in a heavy-duty yet fluid material that lets them move while protecting their skin.

Their loot stowed and ammo supplies restocked, Alex has just slid into the driver's seat when Matt's stomach lets out a protesting growl. Her giggle is interrupted when her own stomach joins the hunger chorus, and it's Matt's turn to suppress a smirk. "Well, if we have to wait at the diner anyway, might as well grab a late lunch. Fish and chips sound delightful."

"Think they have custard?" Matt asks brightly as he fastens his seatbelt.

Alex shoots him a look as she starts the car. "Don't. Even. _Think_ about it."

* * *

If she hadn't been standing behind Jenna's shoulder, Kaz never would've seen it. Absorbed in a solder, she barely heard the blip of a new message. Jenna's brief gasp, however, she caught. Whipping a glance over her shoulder, she spotted the screen, eyes sifting the info til they snagged on the meet details. She did a lightning quick mental association before Jenna deleted the message, then headed back to the lab to grab some supplies. 

Knowing Alex, the rest of the team is probably in the dark, and despite a desire to help, Jenna is too terrified of crossing Kovarian to do anything. She doesn't blame the mini genius for her self-preserving instinct, but Kaz'll be damned if _she'll_ leave Alex in the wind. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she slips out a back stairwell and down to grab a car.

It's early afternoon when she arrives at Speedy’s Diner, spotting Alex’s curls at a back booth. She slides to a stop when she sees Matt hidden behind the curve. “What is _he_ doing here?”

The blonde tenses a bit, drawing a breath and taking the ginger's hand in hers to calm her. “Kaz… we’re trying to work together.” She gives Matt a quick smile. "We are together."

Kaz's agitation is palpable as she turns the 'mom eyes' on Alex. It's the sort of look a parent uses to plumb the depths of their child's soul for answers, and it's grossly effective. Whatever she sees is apparently sufficient, because her expression softens a little. "If you're sure." Alex is about to say something else, but she gives Alex's hand a squeeze and tosses a look at Matt. "You double cross her, they won't find enough pieces to identify. Clear?"

His Adam's apple bobs in a stuttering swallow until he catches Alex's eye. His hand reaches across the table and she takes it with a wink. He turns his attention back to Kaz with a renewed confidence. "Crystal- so long as you're straight on something too. We're for each other, now and forever. We take what comes together and we don't run. And if you can direct that Terminator mom energy for **_our_** sake, we can go back to getting along. Alright?"

A grudging respect blooms in Kaz's level gaze, and giving a quick nod she extends her free hand across the table. Matt takes it and shakes it, and the three notice the lines drawn by their connected grips. It's a safety net.

Then Kaz disengages her hand from Matt to steal a chip, dragging it through a blob of ketchup and popping it into her mouth. "Alright. What do you need?"

"Depends. What'd you bring me?" Alex asks brightly.

Kaz gives an affectionate roll of her eyes that Matt can't help but recognize as pure Alex, and nudges the sack of goodies on the floor with a booted toe.

Arthur shows up through the back door a few minutes later, as surprised to see the volatile redhead there as she is to see him.

“Oh com- What is _his_ stupid face doing here?”

Ignoring her outburst, Arthur jerks a thumb in her direction. “This girl? Really? Since when do we take help from moonfaced Scots? Just because she has a temper to go with that hair…”

“Oi! I could kill you with the salt shaker-“

“That’s enough!” Matt and Alex hiss in unison. The two break off their squabbling, alternating sheepish expressions at their teammates with lethal glares at one another.

Alex continues. “Right now, we take help from anyone willing to give it. 99% of my team won’t budge, and frankly I can’t hold it against them. From what Matt said, your firm is doing the same. But Kaz is here to help, and so are you.”

“And for that, we’re grateful,” Matt chimes in.

“Yeah well that’s part of why I came.” Arthur slides in at the far end, bookending Matt and Alex and digging out a folder. “I finished my research. You guys are going to need all the help you can get.”

Taking the folder, Matt scans the pages, his barely-there brows rising with each line. Alex keeps whispering ‘what?’ and trying to read over his shoulder.

"Our bosses want us dead."

"We knew that."

"Yes dear, I know." Matt taps the tip of her nose with a fingertip before flipping a page back over. "But apparently, there’s a third party at play."

"Who?!" The women inquire in unison.

"Pandorica," the men chorus in reply.

Alex quirks an eyebrow at her husband. "Pandorica? That’s just a fairytale."

"So were we once, remember?" he says with a wistful smile.

"We can be again, so long as we fight together." She punctuates it by taking his hand.

Turning his palm and threading his fingers through hers, he brings their joined hands up to his mouth and presses a fervent kiss to her knuckles. “Just so you know- no matter what happens, I need you to know… I’d rather fight with you than make love to anyone else.”

Tears mist in her eyes- she’s always been the more emotional one- as she responds, “And to be honest, darling, I think I’d miss you even if we’d never met.”

“I’m… sorry,” Kaz’s voice breaks in. “Is the soul-baring really important right now? Cause I feel like ‘impending mutual destruction’ should be higher on the list.”

They have the grace to look sheepish as they chorus out a “Sorry” and turn back to the business of forming a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I hadn't done any other characters POV before, but I wanted that little bit with Kaz. hope it doesn't throw things off.  
> you guys have been amazing, and one of the best parts of my year has been getting into this site, this fandom, and this amazing group of people.  
> more's on the way, and I remind you of my promise that I'll see this through to the end. Happy Who Year, sweeties!


	16. The Pandorica Opened...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and all the evils in the universe gave chase. (well, at least as many as had been hired to do so...)

Of all possible settings for a showdown/Mexican standoff/massacre, Super Goods UK is not one that immediately comes to mind. Yet after a daring chase from their respective safe houses, this is where they end up – pouring out of an utterly wrecked vehicle, dressed to kill with a slew of bad guys on their tail.

As soon as they breach the door they run for cover, seeking a tactical advantage that allows them to see without being seen. The place is laid out like a mall in the States: three stories with a central atrium, floor to ceiling shelves on the lower level, glass-front railings on the uppers, even a food court to stave on starvation while stocking up on unnecessary necessities. A guardroom with wide coverage monitors on the second level is their temporary haven. Alex boots up the system while Matt seals the door, whistling at the views as the monitors whir to life.

“Wish we’d known we were coming. We could’ve done up some _Home Alone_ booby traps and picked up some nibbles and just waited it out here.”

“Until they launch an RPG through the windows or gas us through the vents,” she counters in a patiently neutral tone. “Or one of us has to pee.”

“Oh sure. Be _practical_ and spoil my fun,” Matt laments with a dramatic sigh. “How did I ever end up married to such an unfairly pragmatic woman?”

Alex’s fingers freeze over the Sig, a little frisson of fear tingling up her spine and turning her tongue into a scalpel. “How did _I_ ever end up married to a child who thinks Cheetos and gummy bears are appropriate snacks, and gets ideas from silly films?”

The teasing air strangles in the sudden tension, and Matt pushes away from his mock swoon against the wall. “Alex, come on-”

“We wouldn’t even be **_in_** this mess if we’d just left it in that bed in Cardiff where it belonged!” He flinches at the implication, repeating the action as she punctuates her commentary by slapping objects into a line on the counter. “We wouldn’t be running for our lives. We wouldn’t have lost our home. We wouldn’t be trapped together in a tiny box, waiting for the world to pitch up and _gun us down_.”

He sets a hand on her shoulder. “Alex, stop-” breaking off when she shies away.

“And we don’t have to be,” she snaps, slamming a mag home with more force than strictly necessary.

“Don’t have to be… what?”

Her voice goes flat and hollow as a crushed pizza box. “Married.”

The word hovers in the air like a Blackhawk – then Matt whips her chair around to face him, holding her face when she tries to move away.

“Look at me. Alex, _look_ at me.” A wavery exhalation precedes her obedience. The swirling emotion in her green gaze nearly stops his heart. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again. We absolutely bloody well **DO** have to be married, and to each other or no one, because I love you and you love me. Because I’m yours and you are mine.”

The sound of shattering glass and movement on the screens nearly pulls their focus but Matt holds her gaze like a laser sight.

“And because you had a choice the night we met, and when I proposed, and when we said “I do”, and at Lake Silencio, and in your offices, and every morning before or since or still to come. You could be the woman who murdered me or the woman who married me, and honey you chose. You chose before I did, and you kept making that choice every day. It hasn’t always been easy – and it’s not a walk in the park right now – but nothing we will ever face will be as hard as facing it without each other.” He leans in until their foreheads are touching, pressing close like he can transfer their consciousness through sheer force of will.

“I am a mess and you are the most beautiful disaster I’ve ever seen. There is no way in a frozen hell that we should ever work. But…” He draws back enough to see the adoring apology shimmering in the mossy depths, to show the love and hope in his hazel gaze.

“We do,” she finishes for him, covering a hand with her own. “It’s amazing, but we always have.”

“And we always will.” The softness in his eyes is completely at odds with the next words out of his mouth. “Now, my love, how do you feel about a little gratuitous violence?”

A silky eyebrow rises to her hairline as she lets out a breathy laugh, back to her old self. “And here I was about to suggest the diplomatic approach. See if any of them even _wants_ to kill us after we have a little chat.”

He rises smoothly, offering her a hand and a rakish expression. “Talk about role reversal. Do I have to start wearing high heels and satin knickers now?”

Her smirk could stop a tank. “Sweetie, if you want to get into my pants, all you have to do is ask.”

They check the positions of the hitters, then grab the bag and take the elevator to the top level. Taking one another’s hands and holding their guns aloft, they move to the railing like heads of state posing for a twisted photo op. The racking of shotguns and the cocking of hammers is deafening in the quiet.

“Hello! We thought we’d have a little chat first before anyone gets trigger-happy.” That no shots ring out is encouraging. “I’m Matt – polite, crack shot. This is my wife Alex. Mad hair, fabulous cook, access to all sorts of dangerous chemicals, utterly lethal with knives – shouldn’t like that, kinda do.”

“Thank you, sweetie.”

Matt nods and continues. “I know you’re all team players and everything but she will definitely kill the first three of you-”

Alex has the grace to not be too offended as she coos silkily, “Oh the first seven, easy.”

A few of the gunmen shift uneasily. Even Matt is warily impressed. “Seven. Really?”

“Oh I’d manage ten for you, honey.”

“Stop it,” he playfully commands.

“Make me,” she challenges.

His voice drops half an octave, thick with promise. “Yeah, well maybe I will.” A small puff of drywall emits near his shoulder. Two levels below a mercenary clears his throat, using his AR-47 to make a ‘remember us?’ gesture. “Later. Anyway, between my wife and I, the first dozen to attack will be mowed down like a soccer pitch, so if any of you would like to call it off, now’s the time. No hard feelings, and you have our word we won’t shoot you in the back.”

A tense minute passes as nobody twitches an eyelash. Then a handful of hired guns click on the safety and head for the exits. A score or more still remain, and the lingering wisp of hope for a bloodless mass exodus disintegrates in a hail of gunfire.

They run for the lift as a flash grenade shatters the remaining glass, snatching the duffel of weapons as they pass. Muzak plays softly as they wait, weapons held ready as they watch the floor numbers change in an achingly slow descent.

“Alex?”

“Mmm,” she murmurs distractedly, shaking glass out of her hair.

“I know we said we’d never ask about… the past but…”

She turns her attention to him, a slight wariness in her eyes. “But what?”

“Well… I was wondering… what’s your number?”

She manages not to blush, but he can see the tight grip she suddenly has on her weapon. “This is hardly the time or-”

“Despite my usually optimistic nature- and the fact that I’ve got you, Kaz and Arthur on my side, well _our_ side- the fact is we might die here. And you already know I love you, so… how many?”

“Are we _really_ having this conversation  now?”

“Honey. It’s either chat or listen to the Girl from Bloody Ipanema. I mean is it on a loop? This is like a torture device.”

“No,” she grinds out, taking a deep breath before speaking again in a hushed rush. “I meant it doesn’t matter.”

“Look I’ll go first. I don’t keep… exact count but I’d say, you know top of my head? High 50s. Maybe low 60s. I mean I’m young but I’ve been around the block a few times…”

“326.”

His mouth drops open. He’s a little surprised his jaw doesn’t get a bruise from hitting the floor. “Three hundred and- wha- I just… How?!”

“Well, darling, remember- I am older than you. I’ve had more time.”

“Even so, there’s a limit for ‘the age of experience’ Alex. 326?!”

“Some were two at a time.”

“And exactly how much of that number includes innocent bystanders?”

“Excuse _me_ ,” she says, poking a finger into his chest. “All of my kills have been _clean_ , thank you very much. Experience tends to neutralize the risk of unnecessary collateral damage.”

He sends an affectionate eye roll her way just as the lift pings. “Whatever you say, love. Whatever you say.” Matt grabs the bag and they roll out, instantly on guard in the silence. They cover back to back as they scout an aisle, rotating slowly like a cautious turret.

The final row is a His and Hers display under a hanging porch – pots, pans and kitchen knives of all sharps and sizes, and a tool set including 25 screwdrivers, 12 chisels and an air gun. They shadow-step their way over, Alex testing the weight and balance of a chef’s knife, Matt slotting a tool into the air gun shaft.

“Alex, look – we could pull a Lara Croft!” he suggests in an excited whisper, sighting at imaginary baddies and looking like a kid with a new toy at Christmas.

“Yes, well that would be lovely, dear,” she begins indulgently, “but we're trying to  _kill_  them not  _screw_  them. Besides,” she points out, slotting a few blades into a holster, “that charger tank would slow us down. But it was a nice thought,” she concludes, patting his shoulder tenderly before shoving him behind a free standing grill. The gleaming stainless steel withstands a clip with a few off-key rings, and in the split second between reloads Alex fires two shots around the corner. She’s rewarded with a muted thud.

Apparently not muted enough, as a swarm of henchmen descend, guns blazing and teeth bared. The Smiths fight back to keep from getting pinned down, and end up in a reinforced garden shed.

“We can’t stay here,” Matt wheezes, easing aside his shredded top and popping a few cooled slugs out of his body armor. Alex is field-dressing a few grazes on her arm and side, and running a mental inventory of their remaining firepower. With a little (okay a LOT) of luck, it might just be enough.

Putting on a brave face she doesn’t quite feel, she loads a fresh magazine and helps him to his feet. He doesn’t let go right away, tugging her close for a frantically passionate kiss that somehow stops the world from spinning too fast. They stand at the door, hand in hand, and prepare to step out to meet their doom.

“On three?”

“Boring.”

“Traditional, dear.” A quiet snort underscores the knowledge that they’re delaying the inevitable. “Oh have it your own way.”

Afraid to look, he hears the tight grin. “Time and space…”

“You watch us run.”

Matt’s boot makes contact with the door and they head out with guns ablaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaa-aaack! You guys have been inordinately patient with me, and a huge thank you to anyone who's still reading.  
> Six months is more than ridiculous, and I will be lashed to a post outside my pillow fort, dutifully awaiting my punishment.
> 
> an extra special thank you with cherries on top to ChiefDoctor, who gave me the final kick in the ass I needed to get this done. it's not perfect, but it's there and I hope you like it.


	17. We can light up the sky, if you stay by my side...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end is finally upon them, and it's only the beginning...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "Rule the World" by Take That. apropos for the mood.

In the end, they stand and fight together, back to back and side by side, and mow down a small army of blended killers, bad people from every corner of the globe (even if Matt liked to joke it felt like every evil in the universe was gunning for them.) And when the last one falls, a silence rises in the dust and smoke. They let out a shared sigh of relief and halt when they hear the beep.

Alex whips around and steps over to a fallen warrior. Whatever the noise, it’s not a bomb. There in the breast pocket of his flak jacket is a miraculously unbroken phone with a single contact – _PANDORICA._ Alex takes a deep breath, pushes redial, and sets it to speaker mode.

“Is it done?” Kovarian’s voice echoes through the rubble and Alex feels her blood run cold.

The confused agony those three little words invoke fill her with a conflicting myriad of responses. She wants to scream, she wants to shoot the phone and hope the shot travels over the line, she wants to make this woman suffer, she wants a hug, she wants to cry, she wants her mother – whoever she is.

Instead, in a voice too flat and emotionless to be truly calm, “Just tell me why.”

“Tsk. Alex…,” she begins condescendingly. “You know why. Shoot him now and you can come back.”

“Oh please,” Matt breaks in, his eyes seeking Alex’s in the dim light, even as his fingers brush her cheek. “It was never going to work. Who else were we going to fall in love with?”

Kovarian rolling her good eye is almost audible. “So what now? Do I bother sending more people, or are you two just expecting to live happily ever after?”

“I wouldn’t swear to a fairytale ending – our exit package isn’t that good. But we get life on our terms from now on- is that clear? Or I’ll hunt you down and make you wish you’d never heard of Mr and Mrs Smith.”

Absence of a reply is at least not a no. The fuming silence drags on until Kaz’s voice chirps over a pirated comline. “Are you guys alright? Alex talk to me- are you okay?”

Matt’s hand finds hers, their fingers threading together as they prepare to take the world on together. “We’re okay, Kaz. And we’re going to be better than fine.”

They set the phone down and Alex grinds it beneath her heel, taking a twisted satisfaction in the painful break she hopes it’ll cause on the other end. “We’re going to be amazing,” Alex finishes.

* * *

 

They renew their vows on their anniversary. Thom Yorke and ­Jonny Greenwood strum and croon softly, part of Alex’s present to Matt- slightly modified of course. (He gets the rest of it after the honeymoon.)

Arthur and Kaz are their respective bests, looking darling in a gray suit and a Gucci tartan mini. They’ve been out several times in the aftermath of the Pandorica, mess with each other every day at the new blended firm, and are already making plans for Halloween. Alex knows a sword and a policewoman’s uniform are likely to be involved, and briefly wonders what she and Matt might go as; there’s  a comic book character with straight hair she might try- if for no other reason than to rile Matt.

The lush backyard of their new home (which Alex is already working on) is outfitted in fairy lights and swinging paper lanterns and gauzy blue fabric. Tables ring a hardwood dancefloor. A buffet is set up along one side with enough food for an army, and a responsible bar is keeping the guests happy without letting anyone get sauced.

LJ, wearing a tight plunging ice blue dress, clings happily to the arm of a stunner in Armani named James, who had been to her show every week for three months before working up the nerve to ask her out. Resplendent in a draping purple number, Donna had dragged along a date- a shy new hire from the tech department named Lee; “Gorgeous, adores me, and can’t speak a word,” Donna crows when she introduces him. The girls fondly roll their eyes and make the ideal mute mate feel at home before turning on Billie and Jenna’s escorts.

Looking like a tree-topper angel in a floaty green strapless, Jenna is dancing with a strapping skyscraper of a date named Richard- but the two are cooing over each other so much Alex is already picking out bridesmaids’ dresses and adding the seeds for the bouquets to the list for her new garden. Radiant in a pink gown, Billie has turned up with a quiet Scot named David- who touches Alex’s heart by pitching up to a wedding in a dashing pinstripe suit… and Converse sneakers.

All the girls had cooed over the arrival of Craig’s son Alfie- just woken from the nap he’d taken during the vows- and had taken turns with the little tyke. He’d been remarkably well behaved (if a little bored by the adulation) until Matt got his mitts on him, whereupon he lit up like a Christmas tree and started babbling away.

When the buffet is announced, he returns the baby reluctantly to his mum with a whispered “see ya later, Stormageddon.” Threading her arm through the crook of his, Alex makes a mental note to ask him about it later and they head off for a bite.

Following the meal, the speeches start. They range all over- short, funny, sad, sappy, sweet, serious and a tad risqué - but all are definitely heartfelt and the love flowing around and through and from the couple at the main table is almost visible, a shimmery swirl of golden dust that the happy can see out of the corner of their eye.

They don’t officially have a song, but Thom plugs in his iPod and the strains of “Rule the World” by Take That! wash over the couple on the floor. After a sweet ‘first dance’ wrapped in each other’s arms, the music picks up and everyone swings onto the floor. Most people might think _Ever Fallen In Love With Someone_ is a strange choice for a wedding, but it’s upbeat and Thom freakin’ Yorke and okay, even a bit apropos. Besides, everyone is having so much fun no one’s paying attention to the lyrics. Matt swoops Alex around the floor with a graceful ease she’s still getting used to, and takes turns with each of her girls as various guests claim her for a dance. At one point, _Crazy Little Thing Called Love_ starts blaring over the speakers, and Matt reduces everyone to a giggling wiggling mass as he demonstrates a dance she can only describe as a mating ritual for baby giraffes. “That’s terrible!” Kaz manages through the laughter, she Alex and Arthur holding each other up on the edge of the floor.

A few songs later, he has managed to sneak her out of the yard and up the stairs to their room with only a few token protests- easily kissed away. “Matt,” she says, when he leaves her standing in the middle of the room with her eyes shut. “We can’t just abandon our guests.”

“I know that; haven’t even done the cake yet.” She giggles at his affronted tone then listens to his footfalls as he moves away. A few minutes of ominous shuffling drag by before she calls out to him. “I won’t be a second” comes his muffled reply, and she risks a peek to find him with his head stuffed in the closet, his ass wiggling in a very distracting manner. She gets her eyes scrunched back up just as he emerges, walking back over and dropping a soft lingering kiss to her mouth before tapping her nose with his finger. “Alright, cheater. You can open now.”

The first thing Alex sees is the love in his eyes. The sight leaves her a little breathless with its intensity.

“All I can say is I’m glad I left it at the office; I’d have been heartbroken if it got blown sky high.” She snaps out of her haze to realize he’s talking about the box in his hand. He’d been ecstatic when his Blackburn Rovers jersey had been unearthed under the rubble. It’s slightly singed on one sleeve, but otherwise intact and now resides in a fresh Lexan case on the wall.

But he’s toying with the ribbon on the box and she’s drawn back to the present. “It’s not all there is to it, but… I got something I think you’ll really like,” he murmurs, offering it up. She doesn’t even move to take it.

“Darling I already have everything I could need.” She gestures around the room. “We have a new home that we get to fill with new memories in a new life.” She wraps her arms around his neck and draws him in for a kiss. “I’ve got you.” Turning a moment to glance at the party below, she smiles fondly. “I’ve got them… What more could I want?”

Matt just smiles. He eases the paper apart, letting it fall to the ground as he opens the lid, his eyes never leaving her face. Leaning forward to peer inside, she lets out a soft gasp when she sees the contents. “Oh…” she breathes. Her eyes mist over with tears as she covers her mouth with one small hand. “Oh, Matt…”

It wouldn’t seem possible, but his smile just grows. “So… you like it?”

Blinking rapidly to salvage her makeup, she meets his gaze, her smile matching his own. “I _love_ it.”

He leans in, his lips grazing her cheek, his nose easing through her curls like the prow of a ship until he reaches her ear. “And what do we say?”

 _Damn the guests and take me now_ seems fitting. But she knows the real answer, and turns her own lips towards his ear, letting her voice ease into a purr. “Hello, Sweetie.” With a growl, he presses his mouth to her neck and wraps his arms around her. She dimly registers the box landing on the bed behind her before she reaches up to pull him closer-

A very familiar guitar lick wails through the window, and amid the squeals of delighted guests, they hear Kaz calling out above the noise. “Alex!” They lose a moment to breathless laughter, then a few more to a kiss that promises _later_. Then Matt steps back and takes her hand, dragging her back down to the dancefloor to get lost in the Time Warp.

Her present lay forgotten on the blue and white linen comforter… but they’ll get to it tonight. After all, Mr. and Mrs. Smith are the best at what they do, and they always get the job done. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys - we made it! my final chapter with my delightfully killer Smiths. I hope you had as much fun as I did.
> 
> and don't fret. a new adventure will soon be underway. *spoilers!*


End file.
